#he wants love. he wants his daughter back. he wants to at least know what happened to her

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hiiiiii, stumbled across your blog when trying to find COD fics to gush over and yours are SO FUCKIN GOOD. I love how you write the TF 141 guys!!

My personal fave is Simon and I thought the SFW ABC’s HC were so cute! I’m wondering if you’d be interested in writing a NSFW ABS’s for him as well!

Don’t rush it or feel pressured to do it tho. Thank you pookie ❤️

Oh my goodness! I remember the SFW Alphabet I did for Simon. That was forever ago, back when I first broke 1k followers. Compare that to now with over 6k and if feels like ancient history.

I am more than happy to do a NSFW Alphabet for Simon!

Word Count: 1.1k

NSFW Alphabet Template

A = Aftercare

Aftercare all depends on the relationship. If it’s a quick fuck or a casual thing, Ghost isn’t really all that interested in providing aftercare. He might allow a brief cuddle, or some stiff conversation, but he’s more interested in getting his dick wet. But if Ghost is in a steady, serious relationship, then aftercare is important to him. Not that he knows what he’s doing. Aftercare is not his jam, but if he cares about you, he will make sure you have it.

B = Body part

Ghost loves his hands. He loves that he can kill with them yet bring pleasure as well.

C = Cum

Ghost has a terrible breeding kink. Watching his cum ooze out of his partner makes him fucking feral. Not only does the sight of it turn him on, but he’ll verbalize how good his cum looks dripping out of you.

D = Dirty secret

During his final year of secondary school, Simon got into some serious trouble, and nearly ended up expelled. It wasn’t his fault though, and he felt scorned. So, to retaliate, he fucked the principal’s daughter (a classmate of Simon’s) on the man’s desk. Took her virginity while the principal was in a meeting and the two of them should have been in class.

E = Experience

Ghost is experienced with sex but not experienced with love. He can fuck you all goddamn day and turn your limbs to jelly. But the intimacy part is difficult for him.

F = Favorite position

Face down, ass up. Not him, of course, but his partner. For Ghost, it’s dominating and rough and fulfills every primal urge he has.

G = Goofy

More serious than goofy in the moment. Doesn’t mean that Ghost lacks a sense of humor. The guy can crack a joke, but if he is a bit silly in bed, the humor is dry and might go over your head. Ghost prefers to be completely invested in the moment, and his level of silliness isn’t something he’s thinking about. Now, if something happens during the act that’s actually funny, he will laugh and won’t shame himself or you for it.

H = Hair

Doesn’t care about hair but hygiene. Body hair doesn’t scare him nor does a decent bush. Didn’t shave your legs/armpit/bikini line/face/etc.? Ghost could give a shit. If you’re willing and consenting, and he’s willing and consenting, body hair doesn’t even factor into it.

I = Intimacy

Ghost is terrible at intimacy. Sorry y’all, but he is. Doesn’t matter if it’s a quick fuck or a committed relationship. This man will literally approach you and be like ���you want to fuck?” and expect a very clear yes or no answer to the question. But hey, at least he’s clear when it comes to communication.

J = Jack off

Ghost is a rigorous masturbator. The every day kind of masturbator. While he prefers his privacy, nothing is sexier to him than when you’ve been a bad boy/girl/one and Ghost decides what you need is a bit of punishment. He’ll restrain you and make you watch as he jerks off, giving himself pleasure while giving you nothing. Not until you’re a begging, whimpering mess.

K = Kink

Breeding, primal, semi-public, CNC, breath play, BDSM

L = Location

Cramped, enclosed spaces. In the car, against a wall, on the sofa, in the shower. Basically, anywhere where Ghost can feel big. He enjoys having a sense of largeness about him, that he’s trapping you under him. That you cannot escape him when he’s fucking you.

M = Motivation

This man is constantly down to fuck. Sure, talking dirty is fun, but what he really wants is clear communication first. Tell him you want to fuck him, and tell him plainly, and then the two of you can do whatever. A clear, “fuck me, Simon” sets him OFF.

N = No

Simon leans heavy on consent. His hard “no” is no clear “yes.” If you cannot communicate that you clearly want him, he’s immediately turned off. That also includes how he sets up a CNC with you.

O = Oral

Gives and receives equally. He doesn’t necessarily prefer one over the other. But when he does receive, he is vocal. Ghost wants you to know that he appreciates you going down on him, but also how much he enjoys it. When it comes to giving, Ghost is sloppy…but in a good way.

P = Pace

Ghost mixes it up depending on position. If he’s looking to draw it out, he’s going to go slow just because he wants to watch you squirm and wiggle. But otherwise, he’s all rough edges, wants to hold you down and fuck you until you’re both senseless and dazed. Even in his roughness, he won’t hurt you, but he might leave some marks behind.

Q = Quickie

Loves a good quickie. Just say the word and Ghost will bend you over or put you on top of the nearest surface and go for it.

R = Risk

As long as Ghost has your enthusiastic consent, he’s down for anything. If there is anything new you want to try, he’s open to do it, but is also good about setting boundaries especially if this new thing might possibly harm you or himself. A risk taker, but understands that the risks might outweigh the benefits.

S = Stamina

This man has the stamina of a fucking horse. He can go for miles if he paces himself. Ghost isn’t the kind of guy to tap out after one round. Sure, he might need a few minutes to breathe, but he’ll be ready to go against shortly after.

T = Toys

While he doesn’t personally own a plethora of toys, Ghost isn’t afraid of using them. His favorite ones are the kinds that vibrate…especially if he can use them on you and have complete authority over the controls. Expect to be edged and have your orgasm denied constantly.

U = Unfair

Ghost isn’t a tease unless he thinks you’ve earned it as a punishment.

V = Volume

Ghost is vocal but he’s not loud about it. If he’s going to drop praises, he’s going to say it like he’s passing on a secret. You don’t find this man yelling his pleasure to the ceiling. He’s all soft grunts and groans. But you? You can be as vocal and loud as you need to be.

W = Wild card

Ghost is a visual creature. He enjoys simply watching you. Watching you get dressed and undressed. Watching you shower. Watching you get ready for bed or ready for the day. He loves looking at you wearing something sexy or nothing at all. He stares.

X = X-ray

Under those clothes, Ghost has a decent bush. Keeps it lightly trimmed but a bit wild. Absolutely a good mix of length and girth. Just above average size. He fits…snuggly.

Y = Yearning

When it comes to a committed relationship, Ghost yearns for you all the time. He is always ready, and always eager if you are. He thinks about you constantly.

Z = Zzz

If it’s just casual sex, Ghost is falling asleep immediately. The man is a rock. Lights out. But if this is a committed relationship, Ghost will stay awake long enough to get you the aftercare you deserve before promptly passing the fuck out. Sorry, but he snores.

main masterlist

[seitmai]

“That far along, huh? Are we going to have to bribe someone to lie about the date on the marriage certificate?”

“Why can’t I take her on a proper date?” He looks the man up and down. The scrawny little kid has filled out. But the reputation of a son raised by a single mom still lingered. A son who had to get a job far too young to make sure that he and his mother could survive. A son that was accepted into college, and now about to graduate Harvard law. And still he isn’t good enough for you. He is no good. And never would be.

So sad and unfair🥺

“I want to marry your daughter.” “Over my dead fucking body,” Andy’s cheerful face turns sour, and he glares at your father. “You know nothing about my daughter.” “I know that she prefers the moon over the sun. I know that her favorite flower is a lily, but your wife thinks her room looks better with roses and daisies. I know that she wants a big family, and wants to live just out of the city. I know she wants a dog, a golden retriever, and name her Bagel,” your dad stumbles back on that. You said you never would tell anyone that unless you knew they loved you. “I know she loves baking, and she loves to read. I know that you taught her to type.”

Period👏🏻

“You have no idea,” he gets the most devious plan. It’s not as evil as it may sound. Andy plans on marrying you anyways. Currently he doesn’t have your father’s blessing, and this way wouldn’t exactly be a blessing. But at least he couldn’t say no. You are just like every other girl, and would only get the proper talk until you were engaged. You didn’t fully understand how babies are made, or the ways that Andy could love you, and evour you.

Ohhh i see where this is going 👀

His car turns in a different direction. The house was supposed to be a surprise. But he was also supposed to be given your dad’s blessing. It’s empty, and a bit bleak right now. But if he’s going to have your properly, he wants it to be in your future home with him.

🥰🥰🥰

You would no longer be a lady, and sex didn’t automatically mean pregnancy, but he wasn’t going to stop until you became pregnant.

A man with a plan 🫡

“Well,” he says softly, pulling you into his body. His meaty hands run up your sides before they’re high enough for his thumbs to caress over your breasts, and you sigh leaning into him. You were in private, and there’s nothing you wouldn’t let Andy do. Or touch.

🤭🤭🤭

Wedding be damned. You can’t stop this now. You want to feel him inside of you. “Andy, I want you in there,” he glances up at you with an almost evil smirk. “Will you show me what that means?” He will marry you. He will make an honest woman out of you. Your father drove him to do things this way.

I mean fair, and they are consenting 🤷🏻‍♀️

“I want a baby with you,” fuck yes. Yes. Just what he was wanting to hear. “I want to marry you, and live here with you, and have you inside me every single night. I want to take care of our sweet babies, and —“ he pulls himself out of you again, causing you to pout, but then he pushes back in with a jolt.

Just what he needed to hear

“You were made for me, Sugar. Nobody can ever take this away from us. I won’t stop fucking you until I plant a baby in your belly.” You’re too far gone to truly understand the implications in that statement. You just nod your sweet little head, opening your legs wider. Andy leans back, pinning both legs to the bed as he watches himself impale you. Your tight little cunt clings to his cock. Even your body didn’t want him to leave you. It was begging for him to stay buried deep inside you.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“You were supposed to marry the astronaut.” “Guess he wouldn’t want to marry some whore, huh, Nana?” You let your hand drift down your stomach, rubbing over the barely there bump. “Andy did ask daddy for his permission to marry me. He said no, but all I’ve ever wanted was to be Mrs. Barber.”

The astronaut comment? Iconic 😅👏🏻

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I wanted this. I begged for him to give us a baby. And now he’s giving me his last name. We have a home, and he has a job, and will move up at the firm. Let me have this happiness. He kept his promise. So let me keep mine.”

The circumstances might be a little fucked up, but it's actually really sweet, let them be in love and married!

Daddy's Pride and Joy

Summary: Andy wanted you. He wanted things right. But your dad refused. What other choice did he have?

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, narrow views of sex due to the time period, slut shaming, unprotected sex, breeding kink, PIV sex, first time, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.9K

Andy Barber Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Your mom fiddles around with a bouquet of roses and daisies, refusing to meet your eyes. You’ve heard her talk about how you made a mistake for weeks now. How you put yourself in this position. That you should consider yourself lucky that things are going the way they are. And still you feel her judgemental gaze as she peeks at you over the bouquet.

“Marge?” your grandmother questions your mother. Picking up your dress, she then turns to look at you. “What did you do, you stupid girl?” You hold your head high as your sister starts to zip the dress up. Grunting when she reaches a snag. Well…it is now too tight.

“How far along are you?” You play dumb. The dress wasn’t supposed to be a give away. Your grandmother walks behind you to help your sister. “You could have gone with a bigger dress.”

“It fit last week,” your sister is much too young, and does not understand the adult conversation happening between you and the women who are ashamed of you.

“That far along, huh? Are we going to have to bribe someone to lie about the date on the marriage certificate?”

“No,” Andy told you everything would be okay. And it would be. Everything would be just fine.

“Marge?” Your dad peeks out the front window, watching as the little boy from down the street pushes you in the swing. “Marge!”

“Yes, dear,” your mother responds. She wipes her hands on her apron as she walks into the living room.

“Who is that boy?” He points to the little boy with the bright blue eyes that had captured your heart the moment he and his mother moved down the street. “Hmm?”

“The kid from the old house up the street,” it isn’t like your father didn’t know this already. He asked about him every time you played with him. The problem was your father didn’t like him. Didn’t think the son of a single mother was good enough for his precious angel.

“The one whose father is in jail?”

“That would be the one. She fancies him.”

“I think he just sees an access to money,” your mother rolls his eyes, as she starts to step back into the kitchen to prepare lunch. “You laugh at me, but kids younger and younger are being taught by their parents the best way to money is finding some stupid girl that has a rich family to marry. He sees an in. A respectable man that owns a magazine, like myself. The heir…”

“We’re not royalty. His mother says he wants to be a lawyer.”

“Bah. That kid is a loser.”

“Sir,” your father attempts to close the door in Andy’s face, but the younger man places a foot there first. “I would like to take your daughter out on a date.”

“No,” he deadpans. “Is that all?”

“Why can’t I take her on a proper date?” He looks the man up and down. The scrawny little kid has filled out. But the reputation of a son raised by a single mom still lingered. A son who had to get a job far too young to make sure that he and his mother could survive. A son that was accepted into college, and now about to graduate Harvard law. And still he isn’t good enough for you. He is no good. And never would be.

“What do you mean by proper?”

“Oh, umm…I didn’t mean anything by it,” he meant he didn’t want to wait below your window as you snuck out with him. In order to not be spotted, he’d just take you on long walks at night, where eventually the two of you would lay looking at the stars. It was kind of infuriating to have you all alone. But you are a respectable woman. And clothes always stayed on.

“You know, Dwayne down the street mentioned something about you and her. Now, I thought it was a bit crazy to suggest that my daughter was riding in a car with the likes of you after midnight,” Andy stands up straighter. Nothing had ever crossed a line. But he has every intention of marrying you, and would prefer it be done the right way. “I want you to stay away.”

“I want to marry your daughter.”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Andy’s cheerful face turns sour, and he glares at your father. “You know nothing about my daughter.”

“I know that she prefers the moon over the sun. I know that her favorite flower is a lily, but your wife thinks her room looks better with roses and daisies. I know that she wants a big family, and wants to live just out of the city. I know she wants a dog, a golden retriever, and name her Bagel,” your dad stumbles back on that. You said you never would tell anyone that unless you knew they loved you. “I know she loves baking, and she loves to read. I know that you taught her to type.”

“You’re not marrying my daughter. Do you know why?” Andy shakes his head. He has done everything a man should do. He even has a job lined up. He has a home he is going to buy, just for the two of you, and eventually your children, and Bagel. He has a car. He will provide for you. “You’re a piece of shit, born from a piece of shit. Do you not think I know about your bastard father rotting in prison? Do you not think I don’t know about how your mom was making some extra money? You’ll never be good enough for my daughter. Never.”

—

You lean outside of your window, smiling when you see Andy on the lawn. Throwing your legs out of the window, you shimmy towards the tree branch, and make your way towards the most perfect man you have ever met. Getting down to his arms, where he gives you a bruising kiss. His hand is holding onto you a bit too high on your rib cage, and his thumb grazes over your breast before you jump away from him. He shouldn’t touch you there while at your parents’ home.

“Where are we going tonight?” your voice is so soft as he grips your hand, and leads you down the road and to his parked car. You are so proud of Andy and all that he has earned.

“Did you talk to my dad?” Andy opens the door of the car for you, and closes it before he crosses over to the other side. “Andy, did you talk to him?” He has to let you date Andy now. He is a lawyer. And you weren’t some shy little girl anymore. You wanted to become his wife, and have cute babies with him. And the sooner that this was public, the sooner you can have that, “Andy?”

“He said no,” your arms cross over your chest as you look out the window of the car. “It’s not stopping me.”

“Why is he like this?” it upsets you that your father can’t see the Andy that you see. He is perfect. And he will give you a perfect life.

“Because you’re his oldest daughter. His pride and joy, and he just doesn’t want you to be married off to some boy.”

“Except you’re not some boy,” you give him a smile, scooting over on the seat towards him. Your dainty hand rubs up and down his chest as you snuggle in, “You’re all man.”

“You have no idea,” he gets the most devious plan. It’s not as evil as it may sound. Andy plans on marrying you anyways. Currently he doesn’t have your father’s blessing, and this way wouldn’t exactly be a blessing. But at least he couldn’t say no. You are just like every other girl, and would only get the proper talk until you were engaged. You didn’t fully understand how babies are made, or the ways that Andy could love you, and evour you.

They’d tell you how a woman has wifely duties. But sex with you isn’t a duty. Sex with you almost seems like a life force for him. It is proper to wait for marriage, but this marriage doesn’t seem like it’s going to be approved by your father. And he’d hate to see you leave Andy behind because you needed that.

But…if you were to accidentally fall pregnant how could he say no? You would need to have a man to marry you. What man would marry a sullied woman? Leaving him with no choice but to approve the marriage. Demand it.

It’s not evil. It’s just changing up the way he would like things to go. He doesn’t want you to be looked down upon in the community. He wants you. He doesn’t want to wait. He wants his future wife properly. He’d taken way too many cold showers after leaving you. Relieved himself way too much.

His car turns in a different direction. The house was supposed to be a surprise. But he was also supposed to be given your dad’s blessing. It’s empty, and a bit bleak right now. But if he’s going to have your properly, he wants it to be in your future home with him. You would no longer be a lady, and sex didn’t automatically mean pregnancy, but he wasn’t going to stop until you became pregnant.

Andy has always played the long game with you. He knew the moment he saw this sweet little girl rocking in her saddle shoes as you stood there holding out a coloring book and crayons for him, and told him that you have a swing that he was in love. He fell instantly and even told his mom that he was going to marry you. And he will. Even if you have to get pregnant out of wedlock for it to happen.

“Andy, where are we going? We’ve never been here before?” You ask after a while of silence. You are perfectly content rubbing on your boyfriend as he drives. He gets all fidgety and squirrelly when you do. It makes you feel better knowing his heart is racing just like yours always does around him.

“I bought us something.”

“Oh?” You look up at him with doe eyes, and kiss him on his neck. Giggling when he makes that sound. Kissing on his neck always makes him squirm. You love watching him adjust how he’s sitting and even how he pulls you closer to him. Letting his hands roam where they want to roam. You don't mind as long as you are alone.

“It might not be much. But this is just a starter,” he says, slowing down as he turns onto a road. You squeal as you look forward. Your hand lays on his upper thigh, and he clears his throat. Andy is such a funny man when you touch him in certain areas.

“Andy, it’s perfect!” It truly is. The cutest little white house with a white picket fence. A perfect starter home. “Can we go look?”

“That’s why we’re here,” you don’t even wait for him to open the door before you spring to the house. Having to wait a bit too long for him to come to your side and unlock the door before you're running through the empty house.

Home.

Yours and Andy’s home.

The kitchen is bigger than your mom’s, and a few modern appliances. The living room is huge, but maybe that’s because there was no furniture. Running down the hall you see the perfect room for a nursery. Can already envision the crib.

“Honey,” Andy pulls your hand down the hallway, leading you towards the biggest room in the house. It is mostly empty, sans a bed. “This will be ours.”

“Ours?” You sigh, turning towards him, and run both hands up his chest. “And we’ll get to sleep in the bed together,” your mother hadn’t quite taught you anything concerning marriage. And you’d heard your friends gossip a bit about their husbands, but it just made you queasy. You didn’t want to think about another man. You just want him. You want those conversations with Andy or nobody.

“We can do more than sleep,” he says with a sly quirk of his mouth.

“What else does one do in the bed with their husband?”

“Well,” he says softly, pulling you into his body. His meaty hands run up your sides before they’re high enough for his thumbs to caress over your breasts, and you sigh leaning into him. You were in private, and there’s nothing you wouldn’t let Andy do. Or touch.

Your body heats up with ministrations, and you stare up at him with your eye lids at half mast. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to try with you.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want to make love with you,” your tongue flicks out of your mouth, and you pull your bottom lip in. Biting on your perfect pout as you look up at him. “Do you know what that is?”

You shake your head no as Andy’s hands go to your back, and he grips tight to your zipper as he pulls it down. You gulp, allowing him to undo your dress. It feels right. And you love Andy, so making love sounds right. “When two people love each other, they give each other their bodies.”

“And then what,” you release a wanton mewl when he fully unzips your dress. Placing his hands back on your shoulders, he pulls the dress down, and you watch with bated breath as it pulls at your feet. Andy’s hungry eyes roam over your body before he reaches back behind you, undoing your bustier, and you’re the one pulling it off.

He stands there, taking your nearly nude body in. “Then what, Andy?”

“I taste you,” you gulp. “You taste me,” you shudder. “I enter inside of you,” you whimper. “I come inside of you.”

“Inside where?” Andy’s finger taps between your legs, and your knees start to buckle. Leaning more into him for support, and you shyly pull at his jacket, and fumble with the buttons on his shirt. “Have you ever came inside someone?”

“No,” it isn’t a lie. He’s had sex, and only because he wanted to be the best for you. But that part of him…it is only for you. “Can — I touch you?” You nod your head enthusiastically, and he leans forward. Both hands cupping your breasts before he sucks one into his mouth.

“Oh, god,” the other breast he squeezes and pulls until he reaches your swollen bud, and gives it a little pinch. You pant as you stare down at him. Sucking on your nipple before he pulls off with a pop, and moves to the other one. “Andy…I can’t breathe.”

“We’re just getting started,” he practically growls. He grabs your hand, and places it on his crotch, while you moan. Slick heat races to your core, and your mind goes all fuzzy. Andy always has this innate ability to make butterflies race to your belly.

Feeling Andy like this doesn’t even feel criminal. He’s showing you exactly why he adjusts his pants, “This is what you do to me.”

“And this,” you take a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. You can feel his pulse under your fingers. He’s so hot and heavy under your palms. Yours. This is all yours. “This goes inside me?”

“It does.”

“Show me,” Andy steps away from you before sinking to his knees. He starts to slowly peel away your panties and stockings down your body. Assisting you in kicking off your shoes, and stepping out of your confines while you stand completely bare in front of him.

“Andy,” you coo before he kisses you over your naked mound. “Andy,” you start to melt as he coaxes your legs apart, and he licks through your slit. “Oh dear,” Andy is getting a part of you that no man has. Open and so ready for him. Whatever it means. Is this what people are talking about when they mention the wedding bed?

Wedding be damned. You can’t stop this now. You want to feel him inside of you. “Andy, I want you in there,” he glances up at you with an almost evil smirk. “Will you show me what that means?” He will marry you. He will make an honest woman out of you. Your father drove him to do things this way.

Lifting you up, he lets your legs wrap around his body, while he moves you to grind over his enlarged bulge. Your eyes blow wide open with curious lust and the simpering sounds of your needy voice make his movements so much quicker. He could just about come looking at you like this alone. Laying you down on the bed, he spreads your legs so wide to stare at your weeping cunt. Perfect. And all his.

“Andy,” you whine, wiggling around. You feel so exposed, and want him so bad. You want him all over you. You want him to feel a part of you that no one has.

“Shh,” he whispers as he starts removing his clothes. You gasp as his cock springs free. Scooting back in the bed, suddenly scared of where he says he’s going to have you. “You can take it. You’ll take it all, and if it doesn’t fit, we’ll make it fit.”

Andy clamors onto the bed, using his wide berth to keep your legs parted as he lines himself up with your center. Pushing just the tip of him in you and quickly pulling back out, and you yip. “Honey, you can take it, huh?”

“Y-y-yeah,” you take a deep swallow as he goes deep, but doesn’t pull out. “Oh, golly,” he slowly sinks his girth deeper. Letting your body adjust to the intrusion inch by inch. “Oh…oh!” Panting when he fully sheaths his steel rod all the way inside of you, and into the depths of your soul.

Both of your bodies hum with the throbbing intensity that is the two of you becoming one. It’s overwhelming and lovely all at the same time. All these years have led you here. Spread wide open for him. Taking him. Loving him.

“There’s a good girl. There is my sweet good girl,” it is overwhelming having Andy inside of you. Stretching you out deliciously. You want him always there. It just feels right. How dare your father try and take this from you. You belong with Andy with him inside of you.

“Andy, I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I want a baby with you,” fuck yes. Yes. Just what he was wanting to hear. “I want to marry you, and live here with you, and have you inside me every single night. I want to take care of our sweet babies, and —“ he pulls himself out of you again, causing you to pout, but then he pushes back in with a jolt. “Oh, Lordy be!”

“You like me fucking you?”

“Uh huh,” such terrible language, but right here, right now, it feels wrong not to be saying that. “Fuck me harder. I like that,” he snaps his hips, barreling back into you. Again. Again. And again. And tears spring to your eyes, but he kisses them away. Pistoning into your body with such force you cry out.

The fullness of him. It makes it hard to breathe. Even the sting of the stretch doesn’t hurt all that much.

“Good girl. You sound so pretty crying for me,” you just cling on for dear life as Andy’s movements make the bed slap against the wall. “You were made for me, Sugar. Nobody can ever take this away from us. I won’t stop fucking you until I plant a baby in your belly.”

You’re too far gone to truly understand the implications in that statement. You just nod your sweet little head, opening your legs wider. Andy leans back, pinning both legs to the bed as he watches himself impale you. Your tight little cunt clings to his cock. Even your body didn’t want him to leave you. It was begging for him to stay buried deep inside you.

And he would be. He’ll keep fucking you, and planting his seed until it takes. What is your dad going to say when you’re swelling with Andy’s pride and joy? He wouldn’t want to ruin your good name, therefore the family’s. He’ll be forced to allow you to marry. And he’ll have you exactly how he wants you.

On your back, taking him every night, while every day he gets to worship you. The dream.

“Sugar,” Andy pants, his movements stiffening up. “I’m gonna give us a baby.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Fuck,” he crows, keeping himself lodged deep in your body. “Fuck!” Warmth blooms in your belly, and your mouth goes slack as you stare up at him. “This will be our little secret, okay?”

Until your belly is so round that everyone knows that he’s fucked you good and hard enough to get a baby. Men will stare jealously knowing that Andy has had you with no inhibitions. There will come a day that he will get to tell people that the two of you are trying for a baby. Meaning they’ll know he’s fucking his come inside of you every night.

It will come. But for now, he’s going to keep coming inside of you. Creating a life in secrecy. In hopes that your father will approve this union. He won’t have another choice.

“Beige,” your grandmother huffs as your sister pulls the veil over your head. “You seriously think people won’t notice you’re wearing beige? You spread your legs for the first man that whispered how much he loves you in your ear. You will ruin this family!” your sister looks back and forth between you and your grandmother, but you keep your head held high. Today you become his wife.

“You were supposed to marry the astronaut.”

“Guess he wouldn’t want to marry some whore, huh, Nana?” You let your hand drift down your stomach, rubbing over the barely there bump. “Andy did ask daddy for his permission to marry me. He said no, but all I’ve ever wanted was to be Mrs. Barber.”

“He trapped you,” your mother gasps, holding her hand over her mouth, while the other fans her face. “Sweetheart.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I wanted this. I begged for him to give us a baby. And now he’s giving me his last name. We have a home, and he has a job, and will move up at the firm. Let me have this happiness. He kept his promise. So let me keep mine.”

Let your mom continue to pray that nobody sees the weight you’ve put on. Four months, and six weeks, it is becoming harder to hide. There wouldn’t be a honeymoon. There would only be you going home to your husband. Sleeping in the bed right beside him where you belong. No more sneaking around, and leaving before sunlight. Everyone may know that you didn’t wait, and you don’t even care. Because he still kept his promise.

There would be no more lies. Only the truth, and that’s what has always been known. You love Andy Barber.

Andy Barber loves you.

And Andy is yours.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @musingsfromthemitten

@theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy @distractingbeth

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Gilded Cage

Pairing: The High Priestess! Hyunjin x Billionaire’s Daughter! Reader

Themes: Smut | Strangers to ? | Crime Syndicate AU

Wordcount: 4.9K

Playlist: ‘Venus In Furs’ - Ängie

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Use of a blindfold - Feather play - Oral (F. Receiving) - Slight sensory deprivation - Pleasure dom! Hyunjin - Use of pet names - Praising - Slight submission (F. giving)

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous chapter: Drive By - The Fool

The world is your playground.

Or at least, that’s what your father says when he drapes another diamond necklace around your neck or hands you the keys to yet another car you don’t need. Being the only daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the country has its perks—your wardrobe is worth more than some people’s homes, your vacations are always on private islands, and your life is a carefully curated dream. But beneath the luxury, beneath the silk and gold, there is something you would never admit to anyone.

You are bored.

Painfully, excruciatingly bored.

Your father keeps you in a cage—gilded, beautiful, but a cage nonetheless. Every move you make is monitored, every outing meticulously planned, and every interaction carefully screened. He says it’s for your safety, that the world is too dangerous for someone as delicate as you. And, to be fair, you don’t exactly fight him on it. Most days, you let yourself be entertained by whatever new, expensive distraction he throws your way.

But today, something has changed.

You’re in one of the most exclusive shopping malls in the city, sipping on a lavender-infused matcha latte while your personal assistant carries your designer bags. A hushed conversation catches your attention as you browse through racks of couture you don’t need.

Two women—elegantly dressed, just the right mix of old money and scandal—stand by the jewellery counter, their voices low and intrigued.

“Did you hear? The next one is happening soon. Invitation-only, of course.”

“I heard the last one had a snow leopard. Can you believe it? A real one.”

Your ears perk up. A snow leopard? Your curiosity is immediately piqued.

“It’s all so thrilling,”��one of them sighs. “The kind of place where only the right people get in.”

Your fingers tighten around your drink. You are the right people. More than that—you are the people.

The moment they walk away, you turn to your assistant.

“Find out where that auction is,” you instruct. “Now.”

That night, you sit across from your father at the grand dining table, the chandeliers above you reflecting off the polished marble floors. A team of chefs has just served a meal you barely touch, your mind preoccupied with the plan forming in your head.

“Papa,” you say sweetly, swirling your wine. “I want to go to an auction.”

Your father looks up from his plate, intrigued but unsurprised. “An auction? What kind?”

You flash him a practised, innocent smile. “An exclusive one. Downtown. They’re auctioning off rare artefacts, and there’s a necklace I’ve been dying to get my hands on. A princess’s necklace.”

His expression softens, and just like that, you know you have him. Your father loves indulging you, and he loves history almost as much as he loves keeping you happy.

“I don’t see why not,” he says after a moment, nodding. “But you’ll take security with you.”

You sigh, pretending to be annoyed. “Of course, Papa.”

The plan is in motion.

The auction is at the far edge of town, in a place so inconspicuous that, for a brief moment, you hesitate. For all you know, this could be an elaborate trap. But the thrill of the unknown is too tempting, so you push forward, your lime green Shelby Mustang purring as you pull up to the entrance.

A single man stands at the door—a bouncer, thick and unyielding.

“Name?” he asks, looking down at a clipboard. You confidently give it to him, expecting the doors to swing open. He checks. Then checks again. Then looks back at you.

“You’re not on the list.”

Your smile doesn’t falter. “That can’t be right.”

“I don’t make mistakes.”

You shift your weight, tilting your head. “Do you know who my father is?” The bouncer remains unmoved. “This is a private event.” Annoyance bubbles in your chest. This never happens to you. You always get in.

You try again, pushing, persuading, letting hints of your father’s influence slip between your words. But it’s no use.

With a huff of frustration, you turn on your heel, ready to storm off in dramatic defeat—

And then the door opens.

And he walks out.

At first, you don’t register anything except presence. The kind that commands attention without even trying. Then, the details follow—high-end fashion that drapes like it was made for him, layers of gold jewellery catching the dim light, a fur coat thrown over his shoulders like an afterthought.

But it’s the face that makes you stop.

He is beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair—graceful yet masculine, soft yet sharp. Dark eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long, long time, you feel entirely out of your depth.

His lips curve into an effortless smile, and when he finally speaks, his voice is like velvet. “Well, well,” he murmurs. “Who do we have here?” Your throat dries, but you don’t let it show.

He steps closer, the scent of expensive cologne lingering in the space between you. Then, with a slow, practised elegance, he takes your hand—his touch light, deliberate—and brushes his lips against your skin.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says, lifting his gaze. “My name is Hyunjin.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

You don’t blush. You never blush.

But you do now.

Hyunjin’s smile deepens as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “I must say,” he continues smoothly, still holding your hand, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Then, without looking at the bouncer, he gives a simple nod.

“She’s with me.”

And just like that, the doors open.

The moment the doors shut behind you, the world changes.

Gone is the cold, industrial exterior of the building. In its place, dimly lit corridors stretch before you, the air thick with the scent of expensive cigars and something more elusive—power. The floors beneath your heels are marble, the kind that doesn’t just exist to be walked on but to announce wealth. You glance at Hyunjin, his expression unreadable, and follow him deeper into the labyrinthine hallways.

Hyunjin doesn’t speak, but you feel the weight of his presence. His every movement is deliberate, controlled—graceful in a way that feels almost practised. You wonder if he was born like this or sculpted into the man he is now, refined like a perfectly cut diamond.

Before you can say more, he stops in front of a set of grand double doors. They are obsidian black, carved with intricate gold detailing—regal, imposing. He places a hand against one and pushes.

Beyond them, the world comes alive.

A breathtaking display of wealth and secrecy unfolds before you. The room is vast, the ceilings high, adorned with golden chandeliers that cast a sultry, amber glow over the opulent setting. Rich mahogany and velvet dominate the decor, the air buzzing with hushed conversations and soft laughter, the kind only the truly powerful possess—the type that speaks of invulnerability.

It’s intoxicating.

Your gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the sheer decadence of it all. These aren’t just rich people. These are the elite. The ones who don’t just buy luxury—they own it. You recognise some of them—captains of industry, heirs to ancient fortunes, politicians whose faces grace magazine covers. But there are others, too, ones who remain nameless but equally dangerous, exuding an aura of control that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end.

Hyunjin leans in, his breath warm against your skin as he gestures discreetly.“See the man in the navy suit by the bar? Oil tycoon. No country owns him, yet he owns half the world. And the woman in emerald green? Former royalty. Loves her diamonds, hates her family.”

His gaze sweeps the room, pointing out kings without crowns and monsters in silk. You drink in this untouchable, untamed luxury, and it fuels something inside you.

Hyunjin guides you to an elevated space near the front, a private alcove with plush seating and an uninterrupted view of the stage. A waiter approaches instantly, offering crystal flutes of champagne. You take one, savouring the way the bubbles tingle against your lips.

The auction begins.

It starts slow, calculated. The first animals brought out are rare but not shocking—exotic serpents, small creatures from faraway lands. The bidding is fierce, millions exchanged with nothing more than a subtle nod or the lift of a hand.

Hyunjin watches you, his expression unreadable. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

You nod, unable to deny it. “The money… It’s insane.”

“It’s not about money,” he corrects smoothly. “It’s about power. Ownership.”

You gulp at his words, nodding as your mind drifts at the implications.

Then come the true prizes.

A magnificent Amur leopard, its coat like liquid gold under the spotlight; a Siberian tiger, its piercing eyes scanning the crowd with quiet defiance; African wild dogs, black-footed ferrets; and an addax whose curved horns could belong to a myth. The crowd leans forward with anticipation, voices sharpening as the stakes rise.

You are mesmerised. Not just by the spectacle, but by the people surrounding you here. These people don’t care about rules. They buy what they want. Own what they want. They are free.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the birds are brought out.

The Red-fronted macaw is dazzling, the Kākāpō rare and heavy with legend. But it’s the fruit dove that steals your breath.

It is smaller than the others, delicate and impossibly vibrant, its feathers painted in hues of emerald and coral, nature’s own masterpiece. It looks utterly out of place in this world of predators. And yet, there’s something captivating about it.

You barely notice the way Hyunjin is watching you.

“You like it,” he observes, voice smooth, knowing.

You nod, barely looking at him. The bird is mesmerising.

“Then bid.”

Your eyes flick to him, but he is already watching you, something unreadable in his gaze.

“It’s rare,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “Much is still to be learned about them. Many species are shy, difficult to observe in their natural habitat. They are not hunted for food, and yet…” His gaze drops, a fire within them that sets your skin alight.

“They are still coveted. A prized possession.”

You hear the words, but it is the way he says them that makes your breath hitch. The way his gaze rakes over your form, slow and deliberate. The way his voice lowers, rich with a meaning that has nothing to do with the bird at all.

You swallow. Hard.

“Bid.”

So you do.

The game begins, and at first, it is easy. A simple back-and-forth with another bidder.

But then— A woman’s voice. Sharp. Confident. Challenging.

You glance toward the source and immediately understand.

She is stunning, older, with an air of authority that suggests she is used to winning. But more than that, how she looks at Hyunjin—possessive, knowing—makes it clear.

She wants to win. Not just the bird.

The moment you realise this, a spark of something hot and reckless ignites in you. Your fingers tighten around the paddle. Not tonight.

You raise the bid. She counters. You go higher. The tension thickens. The numbers rise.

Four hundred thousand.

Four hundred and fifty.

Five hundred.

The woman hesitates. You see it in her expression. Hyunjin leans in, his lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear, “Don’t stop now.” You inhale sharply.

“Five hundred seventy-five thousand.”

Silence.

The gavel comes down. Sold.

You exhale, your pulse racing, but before you can bask in your victory, Hyunjin leans in. His lips brush the shell of your ear again as he whispers, “Good girl.”

A shiver runs down your spine.

The auction moves on, but you barely hear it. Not when his words still linger in your mind, setting every nerve in your body alight. And then, just as you take another sip of champagne, Hyunjin extends a hand once more. “Come,” he says, eyes gleaming. “Let’s finalize your purchase.” He leads you towards the back rooms, away from the crowd, away from prying eyes.

And something in the air tells you that whatever awaits you behind the darkness is far more dangerous than anything you’ve seen tonight.

You follow Hyunjin without question, still high from the rush of winning the bid, from the weight of his presence at your side, from the way he had whispered good girl in your ear like it was something sacred, from the taste of freedom you feel at finally doing what you want.

As you weave through the corridors, the sounds of the auction fading into the distance, a voice—her voice—cuts through the air.

“Hyunjin.”

You slow, glancing back. The woman from the bidding war stands in your path, her delicate fingers brushing against his sleeve in a way that is anything but innocent. She tilts her head, a sly smile curving her lips, but her eyes are sharp, assessing. “Leaving so soon? I was hoping we could… catch up.”

Hyunjin doesn’t even hesitate.

“Not tonight.” His tone is smooth, effortless, yet absolute. He doesn’t turn to face her, doesn’t spare her another glance. Instead, his hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you forward.

The rejection is brutal in its indifference.

You don’t look back. Not right away. But after a few steps, curiosity tugs at you, and you steal a glance over your shoulder.

 The woman’s smile is gone. She watches you with barely concealed disdain, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. A slow, victorious smirk tugs at your own lips. She sees it. And it only makes her scowl deepen.

Hyunjin leads you through another door, and suddenly, you’re in a different world.

The room is exquisite—dark, sleek, littered with gold and fur. It is extravagant, opulent. Just like him.

Everything from the black marble floors to the velvet drapes screams power. A large desk sits at the centre, its surface polished and pristine, illuminated by the soft glow of an expensive-looking desk lamp. Behind it, shelves house rare artefacts, books that likely hold more secrets than stories, and bottles of aged liquor with labels in languages you can’t read.

At the centre of it all, a large black velvet couch sits like a throne.

You take it all in, slowly circling the room. “This is an office?” Hyunjin’s voice is smooth somewhere behind you. “Would you prefer something more… ordinary?” You glance at the velvet couch, running your fingers over the fabric. “No. This suits you.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Your heels echo softly as you step toward the desk, where Hyunjin is flipping through the paperwork, his golden rings catching the light. He slides the documents toward you, handing you a pen.

“Just a signature,” he murmurs. “And your payment, of course.”

You take the pen, its weight surprisingly heavy, and sign where he indicates before reaching into your purse. Your fingers find your chequebook, and you lay it flat on the desk, leaning over to fill it in.

The room is so quiet you can hear the soft scratch of your pen against the paper.

And then, a shift.

The slightest change in the air, a whisper of movement behind you. At first, you don’t register it. You’re too focused, too caught up in the ritual of payment, in the finalization of your victory. But then—heat.

A presence, pressing against your back.

Before you can turn, before you can speak—Dark silk blinds your vision.

Your entire world is cast into black.

Panic surges. Your body tenses, your pulse hammering wildly against your ribs. “What the hell is going on?” Your voice is sharp, edged with fear. “Hyunjin—!”

His hands are on your hips in an instant, grounding you. He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low, soothing.

“Hush now, little dove.”

You shudder, your panic mixing with something else.

“You have been in a cage for far too long,” he murmurs, his fingers pressing firmly into your waist, his warmth melting into you. “It is time I set you free.”

Then—his lips. A slow, deliberate kiss against your neck.

Your lashes flutter beneath the blindfold, your senses heightening in the absence of sight. You can’t see him, but you feel him—everywhere. The warmth of his breath, the teasing press of his mouth, the strength of his hands holding you still.

“Will you let me?”

It is a question, and yet it isn’t.

The control is still yours, and that realization sends a different kind of shiver through you. You don’t speak—your voice has abandoned you. But the minuscule nod you give is enough.

Hyunjin’s lips curve into a smile against your pulse. His hands leave your waist, only for one of them to take yours, guiding you away from the desk. You follow blindly—literally—feeling the shift beneath your heels, the soft give of something plush against the back of your knees before he eases you down.

The couch. He has settled you onto the black velvet couch.

His touch disappears.

The absence of it is maddening. Your heart pounds against your ribs, your fingers flexing against the fabric as you try to sense where he has gone.

And then—A whisper of sensation against your arm.

Not fingers. Not skin. Softer. Lighter. Barely there.

A feather.

It drags down the length of your arm, trailing like a whisper over your wrist, up toward your shoulder. A pause. Then, lower—brushing against your collarbone, ghosting along the curve of your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

Your breath shudders out of you, and your lips part.

Hyunjin moves in silence, unseen but everywhere. The feather traces down your throat, over the fabric of your dress, dipping lower, teasing but never quite giving.

It is torturous.

And you have never wanted anything more. Your body feels strung too tight, your breath uneven, every sense heightened in the dark. The feather glides over your stomach, your thighs, pausing just short of where you ache to be touched.

Then—his voice. Soft, but commanding. “Open your legs.”

Your breath catches, but your body obeys before your mind can catch up.

You part your thighs.

You hear nothing—see nothing—but every nerve in your body is awake, thrumming, stretched taut like a violin string. The feather moves again, a whisper of sensation against your parted thighs.

You exhale shakily in anticipation, readying your body (and mind) for what is to come, and then—

It drifts lower. What?

The softest, most excruciating caress against the inside of your knee. It lingers there, teasing, before gliding downward, following the gentle slope of your leg.

You let out a soft whine, the sound escaping before you can stop it. Hyunjin chuckles, a low, indulgent hum that vibrates through the air. His voice is warm, teasing, like liquid gold spilling into your ear.

“Be patient, little dove.”

Your breath stutters. Patient? You are beyond patient. You are aching. Burning.

But he is in no hurry.

Your fingers twitch against the velvet couch, the fabric burning hot beneath your touch as the feather travels further—down, down, over the bare skin of your calf, brushing the sharp curve of your ankle. And then—your foot.

You gasp as the feather flutters over the sensitive arch, the unexpected sensation making your muscles jerk in response. Hyunjin hums in amusement. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, and though you cannot see him, you can hear the smile in his voice.

He takes his time, mapping the contours of your foot with slow, agonizing strokes—gliding along the curve of your arch, teasing the tips of your toes, circling back to skim over your ankle once more. It is a form of torment you never knew existed, this unbearable, feather-light pleasure that leaves you trembling, aching, your breath shuddering past your lips.

You make a small, involuntary noise when the feather finally begins its ascent again.

It trails back up your calf, slower this time, deliberately drawing out the moment. The sensation coils deep within you, tightening with each passing second, your skin hypersensitive, your body hyperaware, your underwear soaked, your pussy clenched.

It glides over the inside of your knee once more—then higher.

Your thighs tense as the feather sweeps along the sensitive flesh, tracing intricate, meaningless patterns that set your skin aflame. You shift, unable to stop yourself, but Hyunjin does not let up.

Instead, he continues his merciless game, the feather dancing along the curve of your thigh, drifting from one leg to the other, back and forth.

Your breath stutters. You’re trembling now, your body betraying you, responding to the teasing touch with increasing desperation. You can feel how close he is, the warmth of his presence, the weight of his gaze.

And then—finally—The feather reaches your cunt.

A sharp, wanton gasp escapes you when the feather softly grazes over your pulsing clit, your fingers tightening into fists against the couch. Hyunjin exhales slowly, like he’s savouring the sound.

The feather lingers there, tracing slow, deliberate strokes over the engorged nub, never quite giving you the pressure you crave. It brushes, flickers, teases, sending jolts of pleasure shooting up your nerves. Your hips twitch, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, and yet—he does not give in.

Not yet.

You shift again, desperate, seeking more friction. Something. Anything. To relieve this building ache in core.

And then, just when you think you might lose yourself completely to this torture, Hyunjin’s voice breaks the silence. Soft. Amused. Knowing. “What is it you want, little dove?”

You have never begged for anything in your life. Not once. But for him? For this?

“Hyunjin…please.”

Your voice is raw, breaking over his name. But he doesn’t move.

You can feel him, so close yet so infuriatingly still, his presence a smouldering heat between your thighs. You shift, parting them further, seeking more friction.

“Please, Hyunjin… I need you. Your fingers, your mouth, anything…Please.”

Hyunjin hums, pleased, his voice rich with amusement. “Look at you.”

Finally his fingers glide over your thighs, warm, firm, stroking in slow, deliberate circles, and you feel as if you might cry.

“You were so put together when you walked in here. So sure of yourself. And now…” His touch tightens, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “Now you’re begging me.” A shiver rolls down your spine.

“Say it again,” he murmurs. “Beg me properly, little dove.”

You swallow, your head falling back against the couch. The words spill from you before you can stop them. Before you can even think.

“Please, Hyunjin, please—I need you. I need you to touch me.” Your breath hitches, your voice trembling. “I need your mouth on me. Please.”

There’s a sharp inhale above you. Then—warm hands, strong and unyielding, gripping your thighs. “That’s it,” Hyunjin purrs. “That’s my good girl.”

He pulls you forward effortlessly, dragging you to the very edge of the couch, spreading you wide for him. Your shoulders hit the backrest, your body melting into his touch as a quiet, needy whimper escapes you.

“So pretty,” he muses as if admiring his favourite masterpiece. “So perfect for me like this.”

His fingers slide beneath your underwear, slow, teasing, just a brush—just enough to make you choke on a breath, to make you arch into him. “Let’s get these off, hmm?” There’s no waiting, no hesitation. The fabric is gone in seconds, leaving you bare beneath his gaze.

And then—heat. Hyunjin’s mouth finally presses against your cunt.

You moan out at the sensation, his lips softly enveloping your clit and sucking the nub into his mouth. Your sounds only seem to spur him on, and he dives in. He’s not gentle with it, like a man who had been starved for far too long finally getting his first taste of sustenance. He buries his head deeper between your thighs, sucking harder, his tongue and teeth alternating between flicking and nibbling the nub.

“More, Hyunjin…. Please.” You moan out, hips gently rotating against his face, desperate for more friction. More pressure.

He releases your clit with a pop, his lips instead tracing a path down towards your entrance. As his tongue pokes out to gather your juices, another gasp escapes your mouth. A second later, his tongue plunges into your hole, and you buck forward at the intrusion, your hand flying into his dark locks. Hyunjin pulls away, tsking at your behaviour.

His voice is strained, deeper than before, as he grounds out: “Now, now, little dove. Don’t make me clip your wings.”

The gaze that greets yours is dark, feline, and suddenly, you wonder if you might have actually become a bird at the mercy of this predator.

Hyunjin commands softly: “Grab the back of the couch. Don’t let go.” Before diving back in. Even though his head is buried against your cunt again, you still nod your head before doing as you’re told.

You feel his hand sneak its way between your legs as his lips resume their plays around your clit, before he plunges two fingers inside. “Oh fuck…” you groan as his hand picks up the pace, in perfect sync with his mouth. You grind your hips against his face again, careful to keep your hands behind you, and Hyunjin groans out at your brazenness, the vibrations sending another shiver up your spine as they pulse through you.

Hyunjin picks up the pace even more, adding a third finger, curling them inside of you and flattening his tongue to apply more pressure and draw quicker circles on your clit. It’s slightly embarrassing how quickly you reach your peak, the combination of the blindfold still covering your eyes, your senses being dulled, the earlier ministrations of the feather, and Hyunjin’s skilful movements between your legs proving to be too much.

“Oh fuck… I’m coming. Hyunjin. I’m coming.” You have just enough time to scream out as you topple over the edge, your body quivering as your orgasm overtakes you.

Hyunjin pushes you through it: “Yes, little dove. Yes. Come for me, such a good girl you are.” He groans, his fingers still pistoning inside of you. Your juices cover his hand, his lips, but he doesn’t stop. Only when you cry out, sounding a little less pleased and a little more pained, he gently removes himself from you. Delivering a soft kiss to your vulva, a silent praise.

Your body is still humming, the aftershocks of pleasure leaving you weightless, limbs heavy against the velvet couch. The world feels hazy, suspended between reality and something more indulgent, more intoxicating.

Hyunjin rises from the floor, slow and fluid, his presence still a smouldering heat between your thighs. And then—warm hands cradle your face, fingers pressing just enough to ground you before his lips crash against yours.

You moan softly into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue, letting him swallow the sound like a secret. The kiss is deep, unhurried, yet claiming, leaving you dizzy all over again.

And then—he pulls away.

“Stay put.” His voice is smooth, firm, laced with something unreadable. “Don’t take off the blindfold yet.”

You exhale shakily, nodding without question. Your body still belongs to him, your mind too clouded to resist. You listen as he moves—footsteps, the rustle of fabric, the faintest shift in the air.

Then—Nothing. The silence is so thick, so absolute, it coils around you like an invisible tether. You strain your ears, waiting, anticipating. Still—nothing. A minute passes. Then another. Your fingers twitch against the couch, unease flickering beneath the remnants of pleasure.

“Hyunjin?” you whisper. No response. You wet your lips, your throat suddenly dry. “Hyunjin.” Louder now. Still—silence.

A strange chill spreads through your limbs, the absence of sound shifting from anticipation to something else—something wrong. You sit up abruptly, your legs pressing together, your body instinctively curling inward as your fingers move quickly to your face. The blindfold slips away.

Blink. Adjust. Focus.

The dim golden glow of the room sharpens around you, the opulence still intact—the dark, sleek walls, the velvet couch, the furs spilling over the furniture. But Hyunjin is gone. Your chest tightens. Your gaze sweeps the room, searching for movement, a shadow, an open door. Nothing. No lingering warmth. No sign he was even here. Your breath hitches. You reach for your underwear, needing something tangible, something to ground you.

But they’re gone.

Instead, lying beside you is a small folded note. As you pick it up, your fingers tremble slightly, the thick paper cool against your skin. You hesitate, pulse ticking at your throat before you finally unfold it. Neat, elegant handwriting stares back at you.

“Don’t fly too far, little dove. Or I’ll have to catch you again.”

Your breath shudders. Something slips from the note into your palm.

A tarot card.

Matte black, smooth between your fingertips. You turn it over, gold lettering gleaming under the soft glow of the lights.

The High Priestess.

Your grip tightens around it, your mind racing, pulse hammering. You’ve heard whispers before. The Syndicate. A name never spoken too loudly, slipping through the cracks of high society, shadowing the rich and the powerful. You know enough to understand its weight, but not enough to know its reach. A slow chill creeps into your bones, replacing the lingering heat. What does it mean? Why this card? And more importantly—

Did you just sign away your soul to the devil?

A/N: Part two of The Syndicate is here! Still have 6 more members to go, each with their own role and plot within the group. Can you guess who is next on the list? Also, kudos to anyone who noticed the little easter egg at the beginning. 💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

Taglist: @hanjisungs-bitch66 - @smartie-pants

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[llamabois]

TO LOVE AND HATE, ENDLESSLY

Synopsis: You and your twin sister (MC) have been spending time with your parents. They decide it would be fun for you guys to play dress up and guess who is who. Caleb ends up joining in to your dismay.

No warnings are needed other than a bit of swearing, lol.

Side note: tried to use some pilot terms, but I might've failed lmao.

Taglist: @justpassingdontworry @macaronnya @itsmekalou @caramelizedpopcirn @xiaorixx

You are your own worst enemy. Not that you'd ever have expected that. It's been two weeks since your mirror reflection has come back into your family's life, and while you're happy for your parents, a part of you wishes you ate her in the womb.

Her eyes crinkle in the same way yours does, a smile a little lopsided. When she gets nervous, she plays with her fingers as if doing so will make a spell to banish away her fear. Just like you.

The first fear you've ever faced was your own reflection, so now you've learned to put two fists up to face your inner demons. You try bonding with her. Asking her about her childhood.

She tells you about how she grew up with her amazing childhood friend Caleb. Told you how he was almost like a brother to her. Almost, but not quite. Her eyes stir with a muted desire that matches your own when you look into his beautiful purple irises. She doesn't acknowledge this. Neither do you.

Shadowboxing is not an art you are unfamiliar with. For you were your first enemy. And you will be your last. Until you break bread with the parts of you that your heart has never understood; You will break bones and wreak havoc on your own psyched up psyche till nothing but the two of you are left breathless yet still attached.

Yet you still choose not to face him. Not until you're forced to.

Your parents have decided to take some time to do all the things they've always wanted to do with both of you but never could. And this time, you two were playing dress up.

Due to the fact that your hair was long (even though you've been thinking of cutting it recently,) you both sported the same bun with a pretty extravagant dress. How your parents got them, you'll never know.

"My goodness, you two are identical!"

Your sister laughs at this comment and turns towards you. "I've always felt like there was a part of me missing. At least I know it wasn't because my heart went dumb."

You want to feel warmth in your chest. You want to feel sorry for your dear twin who suffers from a heart condition after you lost her. You want to love her. Yet your fists are still up, and your heart is hidden on your sleeve.

And to think you're feeling this way all because of a damn man.

There's a ring at the doorbell, the two of you had changed again to match into some more casual clothes. Your mom excitedly goes to open the door. You pay no mind as you look at your sister and smooth out her hair that looked a little frazzled.

She looks at you intently, shocked by the sheer awe of looking at yourself outside of your body yet still within yourself.

She knows you're not all too happy to see her. And she has a feeling she knows why.

"Girls," your mom calls excitedly. "Guess who's here!"

You both look to the entrance of the living room, and your stomach does flip when you see who is standing there. His frame large against the small door. His eyes, some what in awe.

Not for you, of course, never for you.

"Caleb, dear, would you like to play a little game with us?" Your mom asks with a clap of excitement.

"Guess who is who between the two of them."

"We've got 3 out of the 6 times, right? Not bad, huh?" Your dad chimes in, proud.

As if not being able to tell which daughter you've held in your arms and taken care of the past 23 years of your life is something to be proud of. You digress.

You were identical.

"Sure," Caleb says as he takes a seat on the couch. Casually, he leans into the crook of the chair away from your parents. Manspreading like he owned half of the chair with just his presence. Purple eyes watched you both intently as you both switched positions a few times.

You tried to keep your expression neutral. But you knew that Caleb would probably be able to tell right away who his beloved Pipsqueak was and who was just a Bandit.

You both continue to circle each other. As you look at her, you look at yourself. A yin yang behavior. To circle each other endlessly till parts of you bled into who you've hated to be. To both be exactly alike, yet nothing at all the same.

To be yourself is to love and hate endlessly.

"And stop." Your dad says, clapping once.

You both look toward Caleb, who gazes intently at you. His eyes are heavy on your body. You want to look away, but everything within you wants to fight for a stupid victory. So you don't.

"This is pipsqueak, and this is my angel." He says, pointing at your sister and then you.

"Angel?" You question. "How did you come to this conclusion, Colonel."

"Well first," he smiles. "Pipsqueak doesn't call me Colonel. So you just proved my point, my dear mechanic."

Dammit.

"Okay, what else."

Caleb gets up from his spot on the couch and makes his way towards you, as if she wasn't there. As if no one else was around.

"Well...my dear angel often as a really defiant gaze when she looks at people. Especially me. Sometimes it borders on hatred I think." He smiles. "Unless it was something else." He whispers.

You look away.

You choose to run from his words rather than listen to them. How could he know that you wanted to jump into his skin, and carve a piece of yourself into him permanently? That you wanted the weight of his body on top of yours. The warmth of his chest, the desire in his eyes, the whirling of the mechanical arm that was never going to be a part of him yet still held a part of you every time that you tinkered with it in your workshop.

How you wanted the sound of that robotic arm to lullaby you to sleep as he wrapped himself around you brought his real arm to your stomach and caressed it gently.

He truly knew nothing.

Son of a bitch.

"True," you chuckle with a dark gaze. "But it doesn't border on hatred. It is."

"Oh, you know that isn't true."

"What i know is that there are somethings you don't come back from, and if you don't step out of my fucking face, I'll make sure that you face a death you don't came back from." You fake a gasp, "Oh damn, I should say, again. Shouldn't I."

Your sister watches your back and forth. At first, with amusement, but then also a sense of wrongness.

Like she wasn't supposed to be here.

She could tell there was something between you two. Something that was more than hate. It was desire. A language is so often hidden between the lines but felt so easily.

She had no place between that. After all, she was just Caleb's childhood friend, right?

Maybe she did feel something for him, a sense of belonging like no other. To have someone take care of you and treat you as a precious jewel when the world was determined to crush you. Caleb did that. He treated her as if she were a jewel. A diamond.

She shakes her head. She would be fine without him. Afterall, when this bastard blew the fuck up, she had to do everything on her own. And she'll continue to do so.

Or at least... she has her family still there with her.

"Oh angel, you wound me deeply." Caleb jokes sarcastically. But you're not having any of it.

"Would you like another fatal wound? I think we can make that happen."

At this point, your mom and dad left, and your sister also took her leave. Something about going to go change.

Caleb chuckles as he deepens the space between you two. His warm hand caressing your face. You want to throw something at him. Whether it's a chair or yourself, you can't decide.

"How did you know it was me." You asked again.

He comes closer, enough to feel his breath hot on your face. Enough for your eyes to linger at his lips a bit too long to be just friendly.

"Because," he whispered. "I'd know your little eyebrow quirk anywhere."

His hand traced your leg.

"The way you favor your right leg over your left when you stand, because of a classroom mishap you had when you were still studying at the DAA."

"The way you quirk your head to the left when you've been waiting for too long." His hand traced the nape of your neck. Then, he cupped your face and tilted your head towards him.

"The way your lips quiver with unspoken words. Your eyes, hungry."

How could he not know. It was the same look he gave you.

Not because you looked like her.

But because you were just you. Beautiful, utterly brilliant, bright-eyed, and amazing you.

He presses his lips to yours. The dryness of them, ticklish against your moist ones. His hands in your hair, as he breathes you in like you're the last bit oxygen he has left in deepspace.

You throw your arms around him. Your body flush against his, this moment, a dream. An endless yearning fulfilled like you've finally caught the sun after riding into the sunset.

Was this desire? Was it love? You don't know.

But you wanted to explore what it felt like to be loved.

Like a word lost in translation.

"Ay! I know yall are lovey dovey but no pda in my living room!" Your dad calls from the other room.

"Sorry, dad!"

He didn't want you to be her. He wanted you to be yourself.

And to be yourself is to love and hate endlessly.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 91, Part 2

Pearkit is scared by everything happening in the Clan, but Icekit helps her have some fun in the snow.

[Image ID: Pearkit and Icekit run off to play while Trumpetspore talks to Puddlewhisper and Rattlepelt. Under Pearkit, it says + NEW SKILL: MOSS-BALL HUNTER. Under Icekit, it says + NEW SKILL: ODDLY OBSERVANT.]

WARNING: This edition of RippleClan's Promise contains discussion of an off-screen suicide. A non-triggering summary of the events can be found at the bottom of the update.

Puddlewhisper liked being a mother. No, not liked. Loved. She loved being in the nursery full time, she loved watching Icekit and Pearkit open their eyes and learn to speak, she loved her newfound son and daughter so much! It somehow made Lemmy's betrayal, her exile, and the three heartbreaking deaths of the last moon bearable, as Puddlewhisper could sit outside the nursery and watch her kits play in the new snow.

The snow had come back the night before. It began to cover the five Clans during the Gathering. Like the dramatic end to a grand story, the first flakes fell as Downstar explained Lemmy's exile and the murders of Potterypool and Lightningrunner. By the time RippleClan made it back to camp, the shipwreck was once again well-covered in snow. The walk back felt like a nightmare for Puddlewhisper, who attended to explain the happy news to her friends in other Clans. It didn't feel right to leave Icekit and Pearkit behind at the start of a snowstorm—memories of Tempestshade and Shadowdrop's situation flashed in her mind—but when she got back to the nursery, Icekit and Pearkit were asleep at Rattlepelt's side, cuddled up with the recently named Midnightkit and Valleykit.

Now, in the peace of the new morning, the four tiny kittens tumbled about in the snow. Midnightkit and Valleykit were only just starting to wobble around camp, only a few tail-lengths from the nursery, but Icekit and Pearkit were far more active. However, their interests were rather skewed from what Puddlewhisper expected.

"But I don't want to move away," Pearkit whined as she reached a paw toward the freshly ignited bonfire in the heart of camp. "It's cold!"

"And this is hot," Currentsmoke laughed, nudging the tiny molly away once more. "Very, very hot. I don't want you to hurt yourself." Currentsmoke plucked dry twigs out of a basket at his side and fed the flames.

"I just wanna touch it!" Icekit squeaked, eyes sparkling with the early signs of a firebug.

"No one is touching the fire!" Currentsmoke laughed, although a bit more tension leaked into his voice this time around. He was so distracted by the pair that he nearly put his head into the bonfire.

"Let's see if they reach apprenticeship with their whiskers intact," Rattlepelt purred. The furless artisan sat beside Puddlewhisper outside of the nursery, enjoying a little sunshine while her new sons played. She dragged out a chunk of the nursery's leather floor so her bare skin didn't lay on the freezing snow.

"Should I make them play with Midnightkit and Valleykit?" Puddlewhisper wondered.

"They'll be fine," Rattlepelt said. "It's not like my toms will remember today." Puddlewhisper nodded absently. She slowly sank into the snow, as though it would swallow her with one wrong move. She sat in a loaf and studied her kits. Her kits, Puddlewhisper kept telling herself. No one had seen Nimble since that fateful day. If she cared about them, Nimble would have at least come looking. She probably thought they were dead, putting the blame for Lemmy's burning path of vengeance on the entirety of RippleClan.

It seemed strange to admit, especially after the accident with Moontide and Cobaltchaser a few days prior, but for the first time that winter, Puddlewhisper felt… safe? Confident? Happy? Even though it hurt to know her other little sister was gone, Cobaltchaser got to run with Lightningrunner and their parents in StarClan. Puddlewhisper couldn't describe her feeling, but it was a sort of peace, a kind of security that had been absent since Potterypool's body first turned out along the Great Northern River. It was a release of tension rippling through her shoulders. It was a warmth in her chest. It was an assurance that her kits would grow up in a happy period of Clan history.

But with so many recent vigils, Puddlewhisper knew that was a lesser-seen feeling in the Clan. No one better embodied that idea than Trumpetspore, whom Puddlewhisper noticed creeping out of the warrior's den.

Puddlewhisper couldn't recall seeing Trumpetspore outside the den since Mosspounce's vigil. Puddlewhisper had stopped by the warrior's den a few times to share tongues or connect with her siblings, but every time she did, Trumpetspore was in her nest. Sometimes Paleseed or Slushtrail sat with her. Sometimes they talked with her, othertimes at her while she laid quiet and unblinking. Now that Trumpetspore stepped into the white morning, Puddlewhisper could see the weight of so many days spent nesting. Half of Trumpetspore's thin pelt pressed awkwardly to her side, matted and untouched. Trumpetspore would need the mediators' help with oil and a comb to handle that mess. Had no one shared tongues with her? Or had she refused all offers?

Pearkit's attention shifted from the glorious warm flames of the bonfire to Trumpetspore's surprise appearance in the clearing. Her little blue eyes bulged at the sight of Trumpetspore's mats and her drooping face. She backed away from the bonfire, keeping her unblinking gaze focused on Trumpetspore. Puddlewhisper's ears burned. She prayed Trumpetspore didn't notice. Icekit, however, did, and glanced between Trumpetspore and his sister.

"Pearkit, let's melt the snow!" Icekit quickly suggested. He trapsed away from the bonfire and plunged his muzzle into the snow. He breathed hard, breath fogging artound his face as though he could breathe fire. Pearkit immediately forgot Trumpetspore and copied her brother, smacking a chunk of snow until it melted under her paw.

"Trumpetspore!" Puddlewhisper called. Trumpetspore looked up, hackles rising for a moment. "Come share tongues with us."

"I need to use the dirtplace," Trumpetspore said, inching toward the dirtplace path.

"In a bit," Puddlewhisper said, scooting over. "Join us." Trumpetspore crept close. She slowly settled herself beside Puddlewhisper and Rattlepelt, her matted side facing the former.

"Once the weather warms up," Rattlepelt said, giving Trumpetspore's shoulder a few good licks, "you and I should go collect some clay. It's been a while since we've made a pot together. The clerics could use some new jars. It seems Gingerpaw has been a little clumsy."

"Maybe," Trumpetspore said. She rested her chin on the edge of Rattlepelt's leather mat. Puddlewhisper, meanwhile, studied the knots and mats in Trumpetspore's fur.

"Rattlepelt, do we have any oil?" Puddlewhisper asked. Her paw pated Trumpetspore's biggest mat.

"We should have a bit we can use," Rattlepelt hummed. She got up to check, but Trumpetspore batted at her leg.

"Don't waste oil on me," the black molly grumbled.

"It's for your own good, Trumpetspore," Puddlewhisper huffed. Rattlepelt squeezed around Trumpetspore and entered the artisan's den. "If you're not going to groom yourself, let us help."

"I don't want to share tongues with anyone," Trumpetspore whined, ears pinned back. "I always shared tongues with my brother."

"The mediators will do it if I don't," Puddlewhisper pointed out. "I think it will be less embarrassing this way." Rattlepelt returned, rolling a pot up to the pair. She settled the pot on its base and pulled off the leather lid, now glistening with oil. When Trumpetspore said nothing, Puddlewhisper grabbed the damp leather and rubbed the excess oil onto Trumpetspore's mats. The black molly shivered at the touch.

"Maybe you can think about it this way, Trumpetspore," Rattlepelt sighed as Puddlewhisper massaged the oil through Trumpetspore's mats. "We're just filling in for Mosspounce."

"What does that mean?" Trumpetspore muttered. She rolled her cheek onto the cold snow. "He's dead. I can't share tongues with him anymore. I'll never see him again."

"But you will," Rattlepelt reminded the grieving molly. "You believe in StarClan, don't you? You know Mosspounce is up in Silverpelt. So is Tempestshade, and Shadowdrop, and some of your old friends. They're all waiting for you. Some day, you'll get to share tongues with Mosspounce again. I know it will be nice to tell my sister all about my kits when I die."

"I…" Trumpetspore gulped as Puddlewhisper placed the sticky lid loosely on the oil pot. "I forgot about StarClan."

"I guess it's easy to forget our friends aren't truly gone sometimes," Puddlewhisper sighed, readying her claws. She carefully stuck her claws into Trumpetspore's biggest mat. She gently tugged at Trumpetspore's fur, coaxing out little squiggles of moss and foreign hair.

"They're in StarClan," Trumpetspore muttered, moving her head onto her paws. "They're up there… without me."

"It's only a matter of time till you see them again," Rattlepelt promised. As Puddlewhisper worked on Trumpetspore's mat, she looked back to her kits. Icekit and Pearkit worked together to melt down a circle of snow, revealing the sand underneath. They grew more and more excited the closer they got to their goal. Puddlewhisper couldn't stop herself from wondering, how long would it be until she joined her parents in Silverpelt? How long would her kits have to wait to see her again?

Oh well. The musings of life, Puddlewhisper supposed.

(Puddlewhisper: 57, trans female, codekeeper, thoughtful, keen eye, ghost sense)

(Pearkit: 1, female, kit, quiet, moss-ball hunter)

(Currentsmoke: 26, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, inventor and innovator)

(Icekit: 1, male, kit, unruly, oddly observant)

(Rattlepelt: 74, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Trumpetspore: 52, female, warrior, nervous, makes the best pottery, good storyteller)

Trumpetspore… she…

[Image ID: Rattlepelt talks to Oilstripe, saying "This isn't what I meant…" Under both of them, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

---

The waking nightmare began as a murmur, a flutter of soft voices muffled against heavy snow. The sound coaxed Rattlepelt out of a deep, dreamless sleep little by little. It barely reached her ears, and her eyes begged to stay shut. Yet the whispers and gentle pawsteps said to Rattlepelt, get up.

And so she did, albeit slowly. Midnightkit and Valleykit were hidden underneath Rattlepelt's fox pelt, which now laid sideways over her body. Slivers of moonlight glinted off the snow outside and gave the nursery a soft blue shine. Puddlewhisper slept a fox-length away, limbs dangling out of her soft nest. Icekit and Pearkit slept on top of one another, pinning Puddlewhisper's back leg. A heavy warmth hung over the queens and their adopted kits, a warmth that made Rattlepelt loathe to step out of her nest. But there was a twitch in her gut that continued to whisper, on your paws, come along now.

Rattlepelt tried to figure out why she was awake as she slowly twitched life back into her paws. Was it a late-night rush to the dirtplace? No, that wasn't what her gut told her. No, it was Wildclaw, wasn't it? She was supposed to join Rattlepelt in the nursery once she was relieved from guard duty. How deep into the night were they? Shouldn't Wildclaw have joined Rattlepelt by then? Those questions stirred Rattlepelt to life.

Rattlepelt carefully pulled her fox pelt straight against her back. She slunk away from Midnightkit and Valleykit, praying they wouldn't wake up. Rattlepelt rubbed her paws into the leather floor and braced herself for the chill outside. The snow bit her feet and her eyes burned at the sudden introduction of firelight.

The camp bonfire was small, a sign of conversing heat for a sleeping Clan, but still bigger than it should have been for a quiet night. Oilstripe stood silhouetted against the flames. The autumn leaves that adorned her fur glowed, light streaming through the thin material. Oilstripe spoke with Venturedapple, Scaleripple, and Vervaincough. Every face burned with a solemnity that made Rattlepelt nauseous. Vervaincough shook in just such a way that Rattlepelt knew it wasn't from the cold.

Scaleripple noticed Rattlepelt from the corner of his eye and quickly muttered something to Oilstripe. Oilstripe looked back at Rattlepelt. Her face was torn, just like the day she returned from the human settlement without Carnationspeckle. The ginger deputy whispered to her Clanmates. They each went in separate directions; Venturedapple left camp, Scaleripple slipped into the warrior's den, and Vervaincough jogged toward the medicine den.

"Oilstripe?" Rattlepelt whispered. "Why is everyone acting like this?" Oilstripe turned to her adopted daughter. Her breath was shaky, and she blinked wildly. Rattlepelt crept closer, unable to tear away from Oilstripe's fearful eyes. A moment later, though, Troutpool and Weevilsight burst out of the medicine den and scrambled to the camp exit. Honeybuzz, Estherfern, and Gingerpaw followed slowly, whiskers fallen and a basket in Gingerpaw's jaws.

"Is someone hurt?" Rattlepelt gulped. Oilstripe groaned, running a snow-soaked paw over her muzzle.

"I need to start at the beginning," she said. Her voice was coarse and rattled. "I, uh… alright. Estherfern had a dream. A clump of mushrooms, rotting under moonlight. She woke me up and said it was about Trumpetspore. She was out of camp and in trouble. I sent a patrol to go find her. They just came back, she's…" Oilstripe sat down. Her legs tensed with the effort. Rattlepelt waited. The bonfire crackled at her paws.

"She killed herself," Oilstripe said. "Trumpetspore killed herself."

Maybe you can think about it this way, Trumpetspore. We're just filling in for Mosspounce.

"The codekeepers are certain of it. No prints around her body, no scent trail. I don't know what to think."

He's dead. I can't share tongues with him anymore. I'll never see him again.

"Shadowdrop's spirit is here. He's nodding at me. The codekeepers are right. StarClan, I didn't know Trumpetspore's grief was this bad."

But you will. You believe in StarClan, don't you?

"The patrol brought her body back, but… how am I supposed to just bring her into camp? What do I tell the Clan?"

You know Mosspounce is up in Silverpelt. So is Tempestshade, and Shadowdrop, and some of your old friends. They're all waiting for you. Some day, you'll get to share tongues with Mosspounce again.

"Scaleripple is waking the mediators. Maybe they will know what to say. What I really need is for the clerics to make sure she's presentable. I, I should talk to Downstar."

They're in StarClan. They're up there… without me.

"This isn't what I meant…" Rattlepelt croaked.

Oh StarClan. StarClan no. She was trying to comfort her! That conversation had been just two days prior. Did… did Rattlepelt give Trumpetspore the idea? She barely thought about what she said! She just wanted to help! This was her fault!

"Rattlepelt? Rattlepelt, sit down."

This was her fault. This was her fault. Trumpetspore didn't need to do this! She still had a life ahead of her! She could have found a mate, had kits, mentored more apprentices.

She and Rattlepelt were going to make more pots.

Rattlepelt gave her the idea. It wasn't supposed to be a way out! She did it again! She caused someone's death, again!

"No, Rattlepelt, you can't blame yourself for this. Can you breathe, please? Woah, woah, don't fall over! Rattlepelt, can you hear me? I'm getting Paleseed."

Wildclaw was wrong. It happened again.

(Rattlepelt: 74, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Oilstripe: 95, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

NON-TRIGGERING SUMMARY: Puddlewhisper and Rattlepelt helped groom mats out of Trumpetspore's fur. Trumpetspore had been violently grieving Mosspounce, so Rattlepelt tried to comfort her. A couple nights later, Rattlepelt woke up to find Oilstripe solemnly discussing something with a patrol. Oilstripe informed Rattlepelt that Trumpetspore died by suicide outside camp. Rattlepelt has a panic attack at this, believing herself to be at fault for giving misinterpreted advice.

SUICIDE HOTLINES

(United States/Canada) National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 988

(United Kingdom) National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 0800 587 0800

(Australia) Lifeline: 13 11 14

[princessofghosts-posts]

I just realize that all of the sons of the Big Three had memory loss.

Percy and Jason got switched and Hera erased their memories.

Percy could remember only Annabeth's name because Hera couldn't totally cancel her from his brain (their love is so strong and,also,probably Aphrodite's doing),of his beef with Ares (hate so strong that he couldn't forget it) and unconsciously also Nico (some says it's for the strong guilt that he has for him,but I don't think so).

Jason,on the other hand,couldn't remember anything of his past,and with also Aphrodite and her mist manipulation,he had his brain a little fucked up. Even after HoO,he didn't have ALL of his memories back,and his friendship and relationship were based on a lie (Jasper could have gone on,they could have started all over again as they wanted if they really wanted to,but Rick didn't give them the possibility).

Both of them had their memories taken away by Hera,that for Percy is like an horrible petty aunt,and for Jason is like a sort of strange step-mother,and he was also her champion.

Then we have Nico (and Bianca).

The memories of his life,before arriving at the Lotus Hotel & Casino,have been washed away in the Lethe by his father himself. And for half of the narrative he struggles to remember his mother and what his life was before the discovery of being a demigod. And,like Jason,I don't think he'll ever be able to get all of them back. Hades thought he was doing them some good (especially with Maria's death,that at the time was still fresh and he didn't want them to live with that weight),but he still deprived his son of memories of a mother and sister that he will never get back,or at least not all of them.

On the other hand,we have Bianca,Hazel and Thalia: their daughters.

Bianca had the same problem as Nico,but she never understood what was actually happening with her memories,because she thought it was only the Lotus effects on them (70 years is big after all,even tho for them it was only a couple of weeks). And she died too early to find out that her father erased half of their life.

During SoN,we see Hazel struggling with her flashbacks regarding her past life. And it's linked to her death. Hazel spent years as a soul,although she remembered who she was and her life. But when she was brought back to life by Nico (he became the equivalent of Jesus in Greek mythology at this point) those same memories returned with her too. This caused her to have flashbacks both because she had to readjust to being alive again and because of her curse. She also had to readjust herself with the modern world,that was different from what she had always knew. It was never a memory loss,but for me it's close to that. She was processing her life.

Thalia's been dead for years,and when returned to life,after the events of SoM,she felt like she didn't belong. Luke,her best friend (and crush),become their enemy; Annabeth,the girl she took care of,had grown up and knew how to take care of herself now; Grover was almost never present at the camp,and she did not know who most of the demigods there were. Time passed for everyone but her,and she felt stuck in the change. I don't think she had any sort of memory loss problem,but more of the fact that she had to readjust herself with the years loss.

At this point for the Gods,erasing the memories of their demigods children/nephews,it's a family tradition. Because half of them had amnesia and the other half was stuck in time (2 of them also came back to life,while another one died,but anyway-). Unfortunately Nico belongs to both,that guy can never catch a break.

[rainyobservationblizzard]

Headcanon that for the 1.5 years after Aragorn's coronation before Elrond sails off for the Undying Lands, Elrond preps Aragorn through the most tedious bootcamp to earn his seal of approval before he's worthy enough to become Arwen's husband.

Saving Middle Earth from the evils of Sauron? Becoming king of Gondor? Please, that was only the short-list of Elrond's requirements for Aragorn getting his PRECIOUS STAR OF A DAUGHTER. The fine print is much longer; Elrond wants to make sure that Arwen is woken up the right way, fed and pampered the right way, and that all of her preferences are known and respected by Aragorn.

In fact, Galadriel had initially thought that they would leave for the Undying Lands just three months after Aragorn's coronation, but Elrond kept pushing back the date because "there's still so much Aragorn needs to learn about my precious meleth." 3 months stretch into 1.5 years, where Galadriel has to practically drag Elrond into the boat after many tears and protests. (don't worry - in this headcanon, they can still communicate with Arwen from the Undying Lands via nocturnal messengers like nightingales or through dreams, so sailing there does not mean the end of their relationship!!)

He makes Aragorn read & agree to a LONG list of the "bare minimums" of taking care of Arwen. (And because she was pampered by Elrond all her life, the bar is quite high.)

For example, Elrond takes huge pride in having thrown HUGE celebrations for Arwen's birthday for every 2,779 of the years of her life (until her 111th year, Arwen herself thought that her birthday coincidentally fell on a Rivendell-wide holiday, considering the sheer size and scale of her parties... and because of how many distantly-related Elves seemed to know it was her birthday). The list includes hundreds of non-negotiable details for her birthday celebration alone.

"We commission a 68-layer cake from her favorite forest baker, Beorn - the honey-pecan sponges with fresh strawberries and acorn cream are her favorite. That's acorn, not hazelnut."

“Soy wax candles cause her to sneeze - only beeswax-based in the castle, please.”

"Be sure that the sheets are 28-thread count."

Elrond has to hide the list from Arwen to prevent her protesting at the level of meniality of the tasks he lists for Aragorn. "Ada, I'm not that spoiled!" she blushes.

He lists Arwen's favorite scents, flavors, colors, preferences, everything there is to know about what kind of gifts Aragorn must should get her to show his love, non-negotiably if he so desires.

Over the next eighteen months, Elrond monitors how many of these duties Aragorn performs, how he performs it, and with how much enthusiasm with which her performs it.

The bootcamp is ... relentless. Elrond is constantly looking for any signs of fatigue, or annoyance, or any feeling that betrays that it's not Aragorn's greatest honor to be Arwen's husband.

Honestly, at times the kingship duties involve less details than this list.

Aragorn is so amazing that he executes the tasks with incredible stamina and resilience, never once making an off-handed remark about how much he's signed up for by accepting Arwen's hand (how could he, with the amount of pressure motivation he feels from Elrond).

It actually helps soothe a lot of his self-doubt of his worthiness of Arwen's sacrifice of immortality. At least he knows exactly how to measure whether he's being a good enough husband :,-)

At least Aragorn's gotten to be a better cook now that he's memorized & tested Arwen's 40 favorite dishes (multiple times, until he's gotten them juuuuuust right by Elrond's approval).

And boy, can Aragorn braid a mean Elvish braid. Just like Elrond did for Galadriel, Aragorn is expected to braid Arwen's hair every morning as ritual (and vice versa, though it takes Arwen 1/4th of the time to do Aragorn's hair, skilled as she is).

The list also includes many things that Aragorn slightly suspects are not Elvish customs, like Elrond claims, but things that are just specific to Arwen...

Like the one that asks Aragorn to make a 3-day trip before one Elvish holiday to fetch her these specific flowers and decorate the dinner table with them as a symbol of his love.

OR the one that specifies exactly how Aragorn is to give constructive criticism to his daughter regarding her sewing work???

or the one that specifies exactly how he is supposed to comfort/talk to/prioritize Arwen when she's in a crabby mood (is mandated frog-watching and fire-fly catching nights -- coincidentally some of Arwen's favorite activities -- and 2 dozen Elvish flaky palmiér roses really part of Rivendell traditions? Aragorn doesn't recall that when he was growing up there...)

Arwen thinks the whole bootcamp is ridiculous, trying to get Aragorn to weasel out of his bootcamp duties to spend the day with her - "We're supposed to be on our HONEYMOON, Estel! Just being with you makes me the happiest wife." -which is, of course, met with Elrond's loving insistence that happiness is a combination of quality time AND committed, loving action.

Aragorn is no help, annoyingly siding with her father that yes, he's sorry, it's important that must finish his daily Husband Bootcamp duties. Aragorn doesn't people-please much, but Elrond... he's a necessary exception. :)

But... After 18 months, Elrond is pleased and even impressed by the son-in-law that Aragorn is making. He leaves to Valinor completely satisfied and happy with who he has given Arwen away to...

and Aragorn, without even trying, has restored his faith in the race of Man just by virtue of these efforts.

Elrond still requests that Arwen sends him nightly updates though. "Is he still sending your laundry out to the town cleaner, meleth? I know you always did struggle to remember to do it each week..."

And in those bitter, lonely years after Aragorn passes on, those memories of Aragorn learning how to love Arwen -- learning how to arrange her stationary, learning how to do her hair, learning how to invite her to dinner in the proper way, learning how to celebrate her birthdays... -- oh, they rank among the sweetest for Arwen Undómniel. :)

(Hc Inspired by @maul-of-shame Feb 14th fanfic “Honeycakes & Tea” on Elrond being a loving father to young Arwen! I LOVE IT!!! Go check it out!)

[ashes-writing-corner]

Well nevermind I guess I'm updating today yall XD

This is probably my shortest chapter to date but it's like really important and I kinda wanted to be it's own thing. I hope you guys don't mind lore dumps here but...wanted to give some insight to Orlok's backstory here. Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @exactlyelegantwizard, @xenoanamorph, @hoeia-strigoi, @arwenkenobi48, @xanth420, @serpentdeath, @landlockedmermaid77, @uncensored-aj, @mypackpride, @whisperingwillowe, @sasksdemorg, @emimuart, and @fern-and-bone

If you wanna be added to the taglist let me know! Enjoy!!!! ^-^

Exile: A Nosferatu Fanfic

Chapter 8

I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending…

He came so close, so close. Too close. Too close to spilling everything. It was so tempting, so damn tempting. But Orlok couldn’t let himself be tempted. He couldn’t let himself face everything. It was pain that led him to this. He would not let that pain infect her too, anymore than it already did.

His pain started all of this. His grief…

No. No it wasn’t his pain. It wasn’t his grief. It was his ambition. Then it was his grief. Then it was pain. An all consuming pain that he couldn’t dare speak of…

He had tried so hard. So hard to defy his own nature, his own being for his beloved Mirela. He loved her, loved her more than power, more than anything in all the worlds. His first true, real love. She loved him as well, but fearing for his well being, she only agreed to marry him if he gave up his sorcerer’s ways.

So he did.

For a time, anyway.

But nobody could defy their nature. Not him, not anyone. Mirela, his sweet, adoring Mirela, fell ill after giving him his greatest treasure: their child, a little girl Ileana. As hard as he tried to defy his nature, to escape his fate, It came back with a fearsome vengeance. Fate, God, whatever the higher powers who cursed him so, denied him his happiness, his future.

Mirela passed of her fever, and Ileana shortly after. Liev Orlok died with them, as he lost himself once more in his drive to find a spell to bring back his lost family. But no spell could resurrect the dead, at least not as they were. No Solomonari could bring the dead back to life. Despite everything, countless nights spent searching and going half mad with exhaustion and pain, all that he was was lost to him forever.

He had loved, and love only brought pain with it. He couldn’t save them. He had no right to mourn them. The rest of his days were spent in cruelty, returning to his previous dark ways in full force in an attempt to drown out that ever so present ache. He left Mirela and Ileana in the past, where they belonged. From their deaths to his own years later, he was only the Count, the Demon…nothing more. Nothing less.

But he couldn’t find his rest or reprieve even in death. His wicked ways, his power preserved what was left of him, and once again he was cursed by whatever higher, or perhaps lower, powers there were. Damned to walk the night eternally, to never see or even hear his loved ones again. It was less than what he felt he deserved but it was punishment enough.

And perhaps that’s what this place was. A place of punishment. A place to be reminded of all that he lost. It made sense, too much sense really. Hell? It may as well be at this point.

Orlok stopped in front of a door, one he never wanted to open again, to a room he never wanted to set foot into again. He was alone, the hounds were still with Ellen. His long fingered hand briskly touched the knob and then pulled back.

No…not today. Not this time. He couldn’t.

The vampire turned away from the door only to stop dead when he heard the soft cries of a baby inside. He knew those cries, reminding him of the fleeting time he had with his daughter. How he had tried to keep her alive and failed. The nights spent with her, trying to keep her little body warm as she suffered from illness. Her short little life had been nothing but pain, and he could do nothing to stop it, to take that pain away. All he could do was endure it with her, hoping his presence offered some sort of cursed comfort to his baby daughter. She passed early in the morning before sunrise, before he woke. He was in the room, but had left her alone. More or less, Ileana had died alone because of him.

Orlok shuddered, visibly shaken. It took a lot to unnerve him. As a solomonari, he had seen, heard of, and done things that would make many brave ones falter. But the voice of his late wife, the cries of his daughter…that was what struck him most.

The constant reminder of his failure was what unnerved him most. The little stuffed bear sat by the door when he looked again, as if attempting to entice him inside. It was slumped innocently, sadly, on the floor. He hadn’t placed it there…at least not that he remembered. Orlok growled at the thing, Not trusting it to be something real, though he’d held it many a time in those moments of weakness.

His daughter’s cries grew louder and the Count tore himself away from the door. He would not falter today.

Not today. Not ever if he could help it.

He was a monster. Monsters, he reminded himself, were not entitled to grief. Pain was their due, and it would suffice him as it had for centuries. It was bitter but it was the least he deserved. He kept walking away, the cries becoming distant in his ears until finally he was far enough away they couldn’t reach him. He breathed hard, closing his eyes tightly. Orlok felt a sharp, tight pain in his chest, and when he looked again, the little stuffed bear was in one of the chairs by the fire, still slumped over, sad and innocent.

“Îmi pare atât de rău iubiera mea…”

Short but kinda heavy! Hope you guys liked. If you enjoy this please feel free to like, comment, and reblog. If you wanna see more of my work please follow ^-^ thank you soooooo much guys ^^

[thesummerstorms]

The other thing that I think I would want in an Annabeth Wayne AU that I don't think I've seen so far is Bruce being absolutely pissed at Athena.

It was bad enough with Talia and Damian, but Athena is a literal god of wisdom who should know better AND he doesn't even have the "culpability" of having slept with her.

She one hundred percent saw Batman, tactician of the Justice League, was drawn in by her aspect of the Goddess of Strategy, and proceeded to create a child without his consent, a daughter who she didn't even raise before the child became a weapon.

And like whatever else, however fucked up Damian was by his own training to become a child-weapon, at least Talia loved Damian.

Whereas Athena loves Annabeth in the way a Goddess loves, not the way a Person loves, and I don't think Bruce, whose entire identity is so fixated on his relationship with his own parents, would recognize that as love at all.

And, like, Talia put Damian through a lot of shit. I think Bruce would be angry there too. But when push came to shove, she at least at some point brought him to Bruce because she thought it was in her son's best interests.

Athena actively lead Annabeth away from Bruce and into the streets at the age of seven, which Bruce would never see as in her best interest, whatever Athena's godly perspective is, however badly he reacted after Jason's death, even though he couldn't see (and dismissed the idea of) the spiders and the monsters. She was seven. In the streets of Gotham.

Athena let Annabeth fight a major role in two wars back to back without being there to train her or protect her or love her or even advise her. Athena advocated for the cold blooded murder of the other children who had actually tried to keep his daughter safe. Athena sent Annabeth against Arachne when Athena's children have universally died on that quest for a thousand years.

Athena let Bruce think he had gotten Annabeth killed because of his own inability to handle his grief. Let him think his daughter was dead or worse for years. Would have let him keep thinking that if the Fates didn't have other plans.

And just, in true fashion for all of my ideas on a PJO x DC crossover, everyone really comes out more traumatized than before. This includes Bruce.

Because now he wasn't just used unknowingly for a child just once, but twice. And in both cases he's going to have to live forever with the guilt of not having been able to protect his kids from what their other parent wanted to make of them

(On top of all the ways he has directly failed them and made any complexes worse, of course )

[cuteniarose]

It’s almost 6 a.m and I can’t sleep because I’m being plagued by thoughts of The Latest OC

[radiaking]

Don’t ever let coop convince u otherwise, he is def a ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’ mfer

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[tender-rosiey]

Hi. This is my first time writing arequest so i dont really know what im doing but i love your husband sukuna series and i wanna ask for a husband sukuna with a shy baby daughter bc your sukuna is 🤌

reluctance — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: so glad you like my husband!sukuna works <33 hope this one is to your liking as well MWUAH 🫶

“come on, d/n,” you coax gently.

your daughter, barely two years old, shakes her head from behind your legs, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of your kimono as she hides from the imposing figure of her father.

sukuna stands at the doorway, his arms crossed, his usual stern expression in place.

“she’s still hiding?” sukuna raises an eyebrow, his deep voice filling the room, though it isn’t harsh.

you kneel, gently petting your daughter’s head, “she’s shy. you know how she gets when you’re around.”

sukuna exhales slowly. he observes your daughter quietly. wide-eyed but cautious, her tiny fingers tightening their grip on you. your daughter was notably quite soft.

it didn’t help that her father, sukuna, didn’t exactly have the most inviting presence.

“come here,” he says, his tone gruff, holding out a hand.

the little girl hesitates, her bottom lip trembling slightly. you place a reassuring hand on her back and whisper softly, “it’s okay” you smile, “that’s your dad; he won’t hurt you.”

at your words, sukuna looks down at your daughter, his daughter.

she looks up at you, then back at sukuna. with the smallest shuffle, she takes one step toward him then sees him quirk an eyebrow which makes her quickly retreat, still unsure.

sukuna clicks his tongue, while you giggle. your daughter clings harder onto you at the sound of his disapproval.

“she sure is jumpy,” he says, stretched hand moving to rest on his hips, “how the hell is that my daughter?”

“ever studied biology?”

“do not get smart with me,” he warns, but his threats have long lost their effect on you.

the little interaction gives your daughter a sense of familiarity, seeing you talk so easily with him. with some courage finally mustered, your daughter blinks up at sukuna, her small voice barely audible as she mumbles, “papa...?”

sukuna’s sharp gaze relaxes just the faintest bit at the sound of her voice, “yes. I’m right here.”

she stares for another moment, before she toddles over to him. she stumbles and holds desperately onto his legs. she looks up at him, and he gives her no reaction.

your daughter takes that as a good sign, and she looks back at you with sparkly eyes.

“there you go,” you laugh, standing up. “see? not so bad.”

sukuna looks at your daughter, then back at you, “you coddle her too much.”

you fold your arms with a playful smirk, “she’s two. she’s allowed to be coddled a little.”

“she’ll be stronger if she learns early.” sukuna’s voice is firm. she is clinging to him now, a little less hesitant as she begins to tug at his kimono.

she lets out small mumbles as she tries to gain his attention.

"uh-huh, sure," you tease, stepping closer and placing your hand on his forearm, "you’re so tough, honey. maybe we should get her a little curse to toughen her up. would that make you happy?"

he scoffs but doesn’t answer, his attention flicking back to the girl holding onto him. you could see the faintest hint of something in his expression, though it wasn’t something he would ever acknowledge verbally.

for some reason, the scene of his daughter faced with a curse, at least in this age, doesn’t particularly please him.

her eyes are soft. her entire being is. there is no way that she would survive, and knowing his little daughter, she will burst into tears the moment the curse appears. that conclusion makes him think.

he stays silent, before he finally mutters, "never mind. she's fine the way she is.”

you beam at his words and pull his face down to place a kiss on his cheek, “aww, you are going soft, yay!”

“I will kill you,” he sneers, but then he feels his daughter raise her arms. he looks down at her with a scowl, “what do you want, you brat?”

the tone makes her flinch back, but then she tightens her fist and stutters, “u-up!”

“you and your mother are insolent,” he side-eyes you, and you raise your hands in surrender. his eyes flick back to her, “you ordering me around?”

her eyes start to water, but she tries to persevere, “up…?”

your husband groans and bends down to pick her up. the way he gives into her demands is sweet in its own way.

it would make you laugh, if he didn’t pick you up in process which instead makes you gasp. now, both you and your daughter are carried—effortlessly—in his arms.

you smile widely at your husband, while he avoids looking at you. sukuna instead looks at you daughter. he then asks, “are you happy now?”

your daughter stares silently at him, and he stares at her back. in the midst all this staring, your daughter realizes something: her dad has a second face.

her lips start quivering, and she raises her hands to cover her face as she starts bawling and wailing

“ugh, why is she crying now?” your husband groans, irked by the sudden loud noise.

“your face probably scares her.”

“I hate kids.”

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do not copy or plagiarize

check out my buy me a coffee!

[entitled-fangirl]

Tradition.

Cregan Stark x Pregnant!reader

Summary: the reader and Cregan go to King's Landing to support her nephew, Luke's, Velaryon claim. She goes into early labor away from the North.

Warnings: Aegon is his own warning, body shaming, talks of brothels and stuff, labor, blood, death, fighting, all that stuff.

A/n: Based on an ask! I'll proofread later 😭

Masterlist

.......................................................

Cregan held out his hand to help his very pregnant wife out of the carriage. 

He absolutely hated riding by carriage. It seemed pointless when you could ride a horse instead. But when summoned to King's Landing by King Viserys with his Targaryen wife to join the rest of her family, he had to guarantee her safety on the travel by any means necessary.

Alicent's face lit up at the sight of her daughter, practically running over Cregan to get to her. She embraced the pregnant woman tightly, "Oh, my love! How you've changed!" 

Y/n hugged her mother back just as firmly with a smile, "I've missed you, mother."

Alicent pulled away and admired her grown girl, "King's Landing is better with you here." Only then did Alicent notice Cregan, "Oh. Lord Stark."

Cregan bowed his head politely, "My queen."

"Cregan has been eager to see King's Landing again," Y/n chirped in, "He has only been a few times."

Alicent's brows lifted, "Really? I wouldn't have thought that."

He nodded, "I could've been patient enough to wait until after the birth, but alas, when the King calls, you answer."

Alicent gave a forced smile, "Right. Of course. The birth." She looked to her daughter, "How far along are you, my dear?"

"Nearing eight moons now," she said nervously with a hand on her swollen stomach.

Alicent didn't miss the equally nervous and protective look in Cregan's eyes.

…

Dinner that night was beyond tense. 

What was joy for Viserys was misery for everyone else.

Watching the king decay at the table and the rest of them squabble over trivial matters that seemed of great importance.

"A toast to the young princes and their betrothed."

Aegon leaned over to his nephew Jace, "Well done, Jace. You'll finally get to lie with a woman."

A glare was sent his way by Jace and Baela.

Y/n caught on and quickly looked to Aemond, who sipped his wine with no reaction.

"You do know how the act is done, I assume?" Aegon continued. "At least, in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"

Jace's jaw clenched, "You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed."

"Aegon." Y/n hissed through her teeth across the table.

His head immediately snapped to his sister in annoyance, "What?"

"Let it alone."

He scoffed lightly, "What do you mean? I'm only asking." He gained a grin, "It's not like I have to ask Lord Stark that. Look at the state of you!" He gestured to her swollen belly.

Cregan's grip on his fork tightened, turning his knuckles white. 

She placed a hand over her stomach and grimaced, "At least I was able to find a husband that wanted me. Mother had to force you to marry the only girl around, and that was Helaena."

Aegon gave an incredible glare, one that his sibling shot back.

Aemond became amused.

"Let us not fight at the table," Alicent reprimanded lightly.

Y/n looked to Jace, who gave a small nod of gratitude.

Silence filled the room until the King's long monologue of the need for peace in the house. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent gave small and seemingly back-handed toasts but Y/n was too set on the continuous mischievous look in her brother's eye.

And she called it right when he stood and moved to whisper in Baela's ear.

It was clear that it was muttered with the intention of riling up Jace, which it did quite well.

He stood up in anger, slamming his fist on the table.

Cregan, who had remained entirely silent thus far, instinctually moved a hand across his wife as if shielding her and the child.

The tense toasts only got worse from there.

Luckily, the music seemed to drown out the intensity, as well as Jace's good gesture of faith in dancing with Helaena. 

Y/n leaned over to Aemond, "Brother."

His brow raised as his eye traveled to look at her.

"It has been… long since I've seen you. I see you've faired quite well."

He hummed lightly, "I see you've… managed."

She could feel Cregan's intense gaze from behind her, "Wh…what do you mean?"

Aemond smirked and leaned in to where only the two Starks could hear him, "Inpregnanted by a brute-"

Cregan's jaw clenched so hard he feared for his teeth. His voice was a hushed whisper, but still held furiously to it, "Watch your words."

Y/n held Cregan's shoulder, "Let us not do this here."

Aemond smirked with Cregan sighed and leaned back in his chair.

When Viserys was escorted from the room due to his pain, Y/n decided to leave as well, and Cregan behind her.

They claimed a pregnancy illness and Rhaenyra smirked, knowing she'd used the same card many times.

…

Cregan helped her into bed, "I don't understand their need to crawl under everyone's skin like beetles."

She sighed, "They've never known life outside of a castle, Cregan. They've never been told no, and they never will. It's best to let it go."

"They mock us both. My name has been through dirt, blood, and tears, and I do not care, but yours?" He scoffed, "I will not stand by the next time you are mocked."

"It is only for a little while longer," she rebutted.

"Know that I do this for you, and only you, my love."

She smiled, "That's all I ask."

…

"The north has done a number on you, really," Aegon said as he appeared at her side.

She tilted her head, "I don't know what you mean."

He shrugged, "You're…" he then gestured his arms widely. "I dunno… well indulged?"

She pushed down the tears that welled up in her eyes, "Why do you care?"

He scoffed and leaned in towards her, "You know how many friends of mine asked for whores that looked like you? Many."

"And?"

"And?" He asked mockingly. "And? Who wants to fuck a whore that looks like you now?"

Her jaw went slack for a moment, completely shocked by his words. 

Finally, with now watery eyes, she spoke. "You're the worst kind of man, Aegon."

"Oh? And what kind is that?"

A sudden punch came from nowhere, landing on Aegon's jaw and sending him to the ground. 

Cregan stood over the man's body, a predatory look in his eyes and a murderous tone in his voice, "One that can't defend his fucking words."

Y/n pulled Cregan back, "Stop!"

He wanted to fight against her, but he knew better. His shoulders rolled back and he stood tall. 

She cursed under her breath as she took in exactly what had unfolded, "They could have your head for this, Cregan."

"Only if your brother wishes to defend his words against me again," Cregan scoffs as he looks down at the man.

Aegon sits up and huffs, wiping his nose that begins to leak blood. "Northern brute-"

"-Aegon!" She reprimands. 

Cregan glared at Aegon for a while, then scoffed and walked off a few steps to calm himself.

Aegon stands on shaky legs as he glares at his sister, "I liked you better when you lacked a guard dog."

Cregan immediately turned back to the man with a look that said he was ready to murder him. As he stepped forward, Aegon stepped back as he began to regret his words.

"Take me to our chambers, Cregan," she lightly pleaded. 

The wolf of the north only stared for a while before nodding, "Lead the way."

She sighed as she gave a final look to her brother. "Clean yourself up. You look like shit."

…

Standing behind Rhaenyra, Y/n and Cregan whispered idly to Daemon when someone would comment something out of hand. 

Luke's legitimacy was coming into question, and though the Starks knew the truth, they would not dare pry the inheritance from the boy's hands. That was not their place. So next to Daemon they stood as petitions were made to and against him.

Daemon leaned in to speak to Y/n, "how far along did you say you were?"

"Eight moons now," she whispered back.

Daemon let out a surprised grunt. "You're to have the child here then? That seems unlike you."

"Uncle, my father insisted I come, and I have. Whether the child is born in the North or the South, it is a Targaryen and Stark all the same."

He smiled lightly, "I suppose you're right. If you wish for someone to accompany Lord Stark to the dragon pit to choose a proper egg for the child, only say the word."

Cregan, who had been listening quietly, now leaned in, "I am to choose an egg?"

"It is tradition," she explained. "It can be before, during, or after the birth, but the father chooses the egg. If… If you would wish to continue that tradition."

He grinned, "I'd be delighted to try."

When Vaemond Valaryon stepped up forward to speak his mind, the Starks quieted. 

He spoke in anger, trying to take Luke's right. 

Y/n looked past him to her mother and siblings. 

Aegon looked like he'd rather be doing anything else. He didn't care the outcome of this ordeal. Aemond watched intensely with his one eye, taking in every detail. And Helaena… sweet Helaena. 

She needed to visit her and the children soon.

"And her children are…" Vaemond paused.

The room stilled.

"Say it," Daemon whispered under his breath.

"Her children are BASTARDS!" He screamed.

Y/n jumped back in surprise as Cregan's steady hands caught her waist.

"And she. Is. a. Whore." Vaemond finished.

The air in the room stilled and became stuffy as the tension reached an all time high.

Viserys stood on unstable legs as he unsheathed his dagger, "I will have… your tongue for this."

A sudden slice moved through the air, and half of Vaemond's head was gone.

Blood splattered across the ones' nearest, meaning the Starks. Cregan let out an annoyed grunt.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon said proudly as he lowered his sword.

Y/n rested a hand over her swollen stomach with a shaky hand, trying to ignore the blood that began to seep into her clothes. 

Cregan leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Are you alright?"

"I… I want to go," she shuddered back.

He nodded, looking around as the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves. He held a hand firmly against her back as she became to let out an uncomfortable whine.

"Cregan, please," she whispered.

"Alright. Alright, let's go, my love," he said as he tried to move her through the crowd.

But her legs faltered as she let out a pained noise.

He caught her in panic, "Are you in pain?"

"The babe…"

No longer caring for proper manners, Cregan stood tall and looked over the crowd. "MOVE!" He yelled out.

The people quieted and moved as Cregan helped his wife through the room and out of the doors.

Alicent only saw a brief glimpse of her daughter's silver hair go through the doors, and she was on edge. She ran through the crowd to follow behind them.

He held onto his wife's arm with one hand and held her waist with the other, trying to support her as they moved to their chambers.

Y/n let out a gasp, and her water broke.

Alicent caught up to them and grabbed her daughter's other arm. "It's alright. You're alright." She turned to a servant and ordered him to get the maester. 

Sweat began to break out of the poor woman's forehead as the weight of what is happening began to settle. 

Once on her bed, Cregan refused to move from her side, Alicent as well. Alicent rubbed soothingly across her daughter's forehead as Cregan paced at the foot of the bed.

The maester and midwives came quickly, immediately moving to the woman in labor.

"My lord, it is best if you remain outside," one of them said.

Cregan's brows furrowed in confusion. "Out… Outside?"

Alicent chipped in, "It is tradition. The husband waits outside of the doors."

He stared at Y/n in thought. Tradition. How that word weighed on them like boulders. 

"Alright."

…

He tried to ignore the sounds of her cries as he stood in the corridor. 

Nothing could ease his worries. 

In the North, it was not uncommon to be by their wife's side. 

This was unusual to him.

"My lord," a midwife questioned as she poked her head from the room.

His eyes widened, "Is she alright?"

"The child is… having trouble, my lord."

That was Cregan's greatest fear. The maester in Winterfell had spent endless hours with Cregan to determine a plan for if such a thing were to occur. Now he was without a plan entirely.

"Alright?" He finally breathed.

"What do you wish for us to do?"

"What options do I have?" He spoke barely above a whisper.

The midwife gave him an empathetic look. "We can cut the child out-"

"-No." He was quick with his answer, the very thought of taking a blade to her seeming the greatest sin he could commit.

"Um… it will be painful, but we can help her force the child out."

"Is that safe for her?"

The midwife shrugged lightly, "More than any other option I can give you."

He nodded.

She gave a weak smile and moved back into the room, but Cregan caught the door before it closed and forced his way in.

At the sight of his wife, he felt as if a blade went into his own stomach.

She was crying in pain, the midwives forcing her hips down as she tried to move away from the pain, as if that was possible.

At the sight of him, her entire face relaxed, "Cregan…"

He moved to her side, "I'm here. How can I help?"

Alicent glared slightly at him. 

"They won't… I can't…" Y/n whimpered out.

"They won't what?" He looked up to Alicent, "What are they doing?"

"She wishes to get up. We cannot have her standing," she explained.

Cregan was thrown off by that. "She cannot? W… Why ever not?" When in labor with him, Cregan's mother was said to have walked the length of Winterfell 3x over. 

"It hurts… please, Cregan…" 

He nodded as his expression hardened. "Let her stand."

The maester shook his head, "She is nearing the labor. She should not-"

"-She wishes to stand. She will stand."

Alicent spoke up. "Lord Stark-"

"-This is my wife and child. If she wishes to walk, then she will," he barked. 

A fire lit behind the queen's eyes. "She will not."

The midwives watched the tension grow.

Finally, Cregan calmly reached down and began to help his wife sit up.

Alicent cursed under her breath and grabbed Cregan's wrist in an effort to stop him.

Cregan's eyes slowly moved up to Alicent's face as anger began to overcome him. 

But she was first to speak. "You are no longer in the North. You abide by our traditions when you are here."

He'd heard enough of that word for a lifetime. 

His words came out sharper than he intended, but he cared little to soften them. "Your family is made of vipers and cutthroats. When I take my wife and child back to Winterfell, it will truly be a miracle if you ever see them again, for I will not let her sit and be neglected and tormented. I am a brute, but I am not without heart. Now, Let. Go."

Alicent reluctantly let go.

Cregan helped Y/n sit, and she immediately felt relief. "I want to walk," she panted.

He nodded, practically holding her up as she stood. "We will walk the corridor and return." His voice had no room for argument.

Once they paced the corridor a few times, she was returned to the bed, only to find that Alicent had left. Cregan only cared about it when he noticed the tinge of sadness that moved over his laboring wife.

But he was quick to fill the gap. As she moved back to the bed, Cregan sat behind her and held her against his chest, messaging anywhere that began to ache.

The labor came soon after that. Cregan held her close as she screamed in pain and gripped his wrists. She surely left bruises.

"The babe is crowning, princess," the midwife exclaimed. "Keep pushing."

The pain came in waves that made her see white. 

Cregan began to panic when the midwives gave one another a look. "What?"

"She is not pushing hard enough."

Y/n began to cry in frustration.

"She is pushing," Cregan sighed. "What else is there to do?"

One of them reached up and began to push on her stomach, prompting the princess to cry harder as the pain multiplied. 

"Allow me," Cregan shifted her in his hold and carefully placed his hands where the midwife had, slowly applying pressure to the same place.

As Y/n screamed and cried, Cregan placed assuring kisses against her neck and cheek and whispered calming words to her. "You're doing well."

If the pain had not been so bad, she may have blushed.

…

Cregan held the baby close to his chest as his wife slept.

"My lord," a servant finally entered and interrupted the silence. "The queen has requested to see the child."

An annoyed feeling washed over the man. Of course, she wished to. 

The servant took note of his changed demeanor, "I can take-"

"-No," he countered. "I will go myself. Should my wife awaken in my absence, give her anything she desires."

His heavy feet stormed from the room and he walked to the queen's chambers.

Alicent turned and shock overcame her. "Lord Stark. I did not expect you to-"

"-Neither did I."

The two stared at one another for a moment before Alicent's eyes wandered to the bundle in the large lord's arms. "Healthy?"

"The very picture."

She nodded, unsure of what to say next.

"A boy," Cregan stated.

"A boy?" Alicent whispered. Any thoughts of annoyance were past to her, and she walked to the lord and eagerly looked at the child.

The baby was indeed the picture of health. Bright purple eyes looked up at the two. Dark hair sat atop his head.

"He's quite northern," she stated.

"Indeed." Cregan was sure she meant it as an insult, but he could care less. The thought of such a gift as a northern boy filled him with pride. 

"Congratulations, Lord Stark."

He nodded. "Your daughter is fine as well."

Alicent moved away from Cregan and sat down. "That is a blessing. To all of us. She will be a perfect mother."

"Aye, she will."

The tension between the two was evident, but they wouldn't let it dull the excitement of the newest addition to the line.

"I should return to my wife."

"Please, do."

Cregan moved to the door.

"Lord Stark?" She asked.

"Yes?"

Alicent stared at him and then the babe. "Thank you. For caring for her. And now him. You are a better man than most."

Cregan sighed. It wasn't a compliment, but it was something. "Thank you, my queen. She will want for nothing until my dying breath."

"This is all I wished for her."

......................................................

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[tonycries]

A ranking of JJK men from best to worst during your period (absolutely no one asked for this):

Nanami - Are you kidding me? In what world would this perfect husband NOT be number one?? Doesn't even need that lil' app on his phone to track your periods, bro remembers. He has it mapped out in his brain AND on his calendar. You don't even have to tell him when it starts, he'll be home with chocolates, your fav movies, and enough heating pads to last a lifetime going, "Hi, my love, I hope m'not too early but I got you these." He's never too early. Never.

Geto - Bro has been through the whole process twice already with his daughters. He KNOWS exactly what's going down when you get just a lil' too sensitive, when your cravings become just a tad sweeter. Would lay you down and give you the most soothing massages whispering about how it'll "all be over soon" and "his girl can tough it out." 10/10 is so patient, even has a period tracker on his phone.

Choso - Y'know he's a lil' confused but he's got the spirit. Curses don't have periods so trust he'll be MAD confused wondering whether you've somehow developed the same jujutsu technique as him. When you teach him though, he's gonna be the sweetest babygirl. Let's you cuddle and use him all you want, throw him around to your hearts content until you have the perfect pillow!! Only minus points would be for that little intrusive thought in his brain that just wants to.....experiment......with his technique....

Gojo - Now, you'd be confused about who has the period - you or HIM? Which, honestly if distraction is your go-to then it works out pretty well. Every cramp you get, Gojo just hates to see his pretty baby in pain, so he'd be crying out. He'd be right there moaning and groaning along with you until you're crying tears of laughter because what the fuck?? Extra points because he's a sweet connoisseur and knows ALL the best places to get you everything you want. Trust, bro doesn't skimp out either he'd be diving IN to that Gojo Estate old money just to get you more than everything you need. Much more.

Toji - Now, hear me out it's not that man doesn't know what to do. It's just that he doesn't want to. Not to bully his cute girl, but does he really have to get out of bed and walk the treacherous block down to the convenience store to get you extra pads? Really? He'd much rather stay in bed cuddling you and kissing every inch of your face he could reach - seriously, his old bones are creaking at the very thought of moving. But, eventually, when you do bribe him with a dollar convince him to go, he'd be pampering you and more with your own money.

Sukuna - Bro definitely tells you to "just suck it back in wtf." -3878473 aura for him, but at least Uraume is on your side and gives him a good whack to the head. When he realizes a bit tho would be a bit softer than usual, at least he'll stop calling you his usual names after your sensitive self tears up at them. Mhm, definitely take him to try out a cramp simulator, though he deserves it.

[callmeizukunotdeku]

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? That they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.